


Chermera

by mrkeller



Series: Kuxan Sum Cycle [11]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Fox and Samantha are reunited, Gen, Kuxan Sum cycle starts shortly after the Third Season episode "Syzygy", Mulder-Scully friendship, X-Files case with Myth-arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 200,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21619651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrkeller/pseuds/mrkeller
Summary: Mulder and Scully return from Santorini to take charge of their expanded X-Files organization, discovering that the revelation of the existence of the shape-shifters has changed the world in their absence. The Cigarette-Smoking Man tries to rebuild the American Shadow government as the other Organizations angle to take over power. Sandra Ann Miller works with Jerry Donato to probe the death of his former partner, finding that the investigation leads across several oceans. The X-team finally takes on the murder of Bill Mulder as a case, sending them deeper into the past than either had thought possible.
Series: Kuxan Sum Cycle [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555492





	1. Arrival

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter I - Arrival

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

The Prisoner: Get him!  
Number Two: I have taken his place. I am the new Number 2.  
The Prisoner: Get Number One.  
Number Two: As far as you're concerned, I'm in charge. What can I do for you?  
The Prisoner: Cobb!  
Number Two: What we do here has to be done. It's the law of survival. It's either them or us.  
The Prisoner: Imprison people? Steal their minds? Destroy them?  
Number Two: It depends on whose side you're on, doesn't it?  
The Prisoner: I'm on our side.  
Number Two: But we have to know where your sympathies lie.  
The Prisoner: You know where they lie.  
Number Two: (reads from report) Subject shows great enthusiasm for his work. He is utterly  
devoted and loyal. (stops reading) Is this a man who suddenly walks out?  
The Prisoner: I didn't walk out. I resigned.  
Number Two: People change. Is that it? Change of loyalty?  
The Prisoner: Not mine.  
Number Two: All very commendable. But that's practical. I'm interested in facts. Your  
only chance to get out of here is to give them to me. If you don't give them  
to me, I'll take them. It's up to you. Think about it. Good day, Number Six.  
The Prisoner: Number what?  
Number Two: Six. For official purposes, everyone has a number. Yours is Number Six.  
The Prisoner: I am not a number. I am a person.  
Number Two: Six of one, half a dozen of another. Good Day.

"Arrival"

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Monday, June 1, 1998  
11:59 pm

"Dal Riata is dead."

The pronouncement was benediction and warning, all at once. No one stirred in the darkened room, not the turbaned Pakistani, nor the weathered Inuit elder with hair as white and long as that of the delicate Mandarin seer who sat beside him. The speaker, his reddish-blond curls long since bleached and thinned, bent to lower the sallow eyelids of the slight woman, now still under linen and black wool. The length of his years seemed to draw him down beside her as he bent to place a brief, tender kiss on her forehead, then he straightened, as if forcing eternity away from him and the others gathered around.

His eyes passed unseeing over the sculpture mounted above the bed, a bronze circle with wavy rays emanating from it. The metal form was only slightly larger than the gold outline of the same shape embroidered into the dark blanket now being slid up over the woman's slack face. He paid no attention to either disk, but not from lack of respect for its craftsmanship and significance. He had seen this artifact many times, in many places, over his long life. He did not note that the waves alternated in length, one long and one short, repeated endlessly around the circle, nor did he bother to count the rays. He knew there were forty here, as there were on every other depiction on the chairs, walls, and doors of the Suola. Instead, he gazed downward, propping both hands on a column of alder, letting one of his thumbs stroke a Celtic lion carved there.

"We are many, we are one." The salutation was unvoiced. His words echoed back from the others assembled in the room, but were damped, almost immediately, by the thick black curtains being drawn tightly closed in reverence. What little light had been entering the Suola through windows of diamond panes, small and high above dark oak panels, was now extinguished. The speaker lit a single white taper, then with a sigh, turned to the rest to query, "Who shall replace the Riata? Whom can we find that is her equal?" He checked one somber face in the room after another until he had met the gaze of each in turn. There were thirty-eight of them, he knew, twenty men and eighteen women. Their world remained out of balance, or, had been further unbalanced by the death of the woman beside him.

But, there were forty chairs. One belonged to the Riata. The other, to the Slav. That chair had been filled until a few weeks ago, when she had disappeared, right around the time the imbecile media had begun fluttering about rockets in Africa. It had been the death of the Slav's predecessor, shortly after he himself had been inducted into the Forty, that had precipitated the Change. Until then, the faces in this room would all have been male. Somber, serious men, dedicated to the principles of the Light, but, lacking the voice of half of the planet. After a great struggle among the members, the first one in which he had taken part, parity had been brought to the Forty: twenty men and twenty women, speaking for all the facets of humanity. The Riata had been the first woman to claim one of these wide ebony chairs, each with the sun and its rays carved into the back and embroidered in gold on sable cushions.

From the rear of the Assembly two figures, shrouded and cowled in grey, stepped forward. Each held one end of a long strip of white satin. They advanced to a vacant ebony chair, taller than the rest by the width of a single finger. A gilded pyramidal finial adorned the ear of each stile, but otherwise, the seat was identical to the other thirty-nine. One grey figure stopped in front of, the other behind, the chair, which was shifted a centimeter forward of the rest in the row of ten. The satin was draped, first over the top rail between the finials, leaving a length long enough to trail down the full length of the back, crossing the carving of the sun with its forty wavy rays. In the front, the satin was tucked over the black seat cushion, covering the golden circle with its forty wavy rays, the gleaming remnant left to hang free down the front to the floor. Those assembled watched in silence, as all was proceeding according to their laws.

Throughout the ceremony, the man with the lion cane had left his hand on the wool beside him, knowing the once-graceful fingers that lay beneath. The Riata had led a different fight, one he had supported with his entire being. She had sought to bring the principles, not just of the Light, but of the Enlightenment, to guide the wisdom of the Forty. Humanity would no longer be directed by them, as if so few could accomplish that. Instead, they would observe and catalogue their species, leaving its many, many variants and differences to flourish. They would work, instead, to bring the Light to all people, through knowledge and freedom. There had been opposition, much dissent. His eyes drifted back to the bronze sculpture on the wall. Once it had been silver, the rays all of equal length, straight as arrows. That had been the symbol of the control the Forty had maintained, in the dark days when tanks rolled across Europe, as planes had carried bombs to rain death from across the Channel. That had been when their centuries-old principles had been subsumed into the Rule of One Race by an angry mob leader.

Finally, from the back, where one of their number had been resting against the curtained wall, came a voice. "We are many, we are one. I have no sense of the Slav. She is no longer of this Earth. But, I have seen Dal Riata in a dream." The elder stepped close to the bed, then lifted his lean arms upright to their full length. Like many of the others, his curly hair was white and thin, his face lined by time. Unlike them, his shoulders were unbowed, thanks to the years walking the Outback. "We see the Truth in dreams, but it is beyond words, beyond what we can catalogue and proscribe." He closed his sand-grey eyes, then, began swaying slightly. "The Riata is coming to us, over the long water, from the distant shore. I see that blaze marking Riata for us all, the sign of fire on high."

An angry clap of spotted hands sounded. "That is all very well." The new speaker frowned at the gasp that ran around the room at his breech of decorum, so he concluded with an impatient, 'We are many, we are one.' His curt affirmation was followed by the shaking of a long, pale face, under white hair that had been smoothed into perfection by obsessive applications of gel and combing. "But that is not our way." Slender, reddened fingers rubbed both sides of a straight, thin nose. "There will be tests for Dal Riata."

The elder with the alder lion cane nodded. "There will always be tests, Suebi. I was tested at length before I was found to be the Pict." He glanced back at the bed. "The Pure among your people are many, and your family is the Purest of all. As for the rest, the Past controls us, while the Pure are fewer and fewer with the years. We must remain as we are and not give sway to the forces that cast us into such obscurity." He had heard these same words from the Riata, many times. Now that she was no longer able to give them voice, he felt he must take her place, at least until another came forward from the byways and currents of humanity.

"We should seek the Slav first." All heads turned toward the new speaker, slight and white-haired. She rose, leaning heavily on a cane with the head of a bear. "I, the Helvetii, say we should respect the passage of Time. The seat of the Slav has been empty longer. We will only maintain our imbalance if we seek the Riata but not the Slav." There was a general rumble of agreement among the members.

"No!" The Aborigine seer was stalking around the deep chairs as he argued. "I have seen the Riata. This is Pure and True, unaltered by Time's cyclone." He spread his arms. "This Riata, *my* Riata, has seen much, has met different faces of the Deep and the Wide."

The Mandarin lifted a tapered finger. "So, what has Dal Riata seen that guides you? There is much distraction, much falsehood. Where is the Light?"

The Aborigine pointed to an ocher stone on a stand beside him. "She showed me."

The Suebi snorted. "Superstition. Children's fables. A rock with two depressions that your people see as eyes, and a crack you think is a mouth told you about the Riata? Pointless gibbering." He narrowed his crystal blue eyes at the Aborigine towering over him. "Gas, nothing more. We have the knowledge. We can seek the Riata out."

"Wait!" The Pict pointed to the figure on the bed. "We are many, we are one. We must respect those now invisible."

Suebi fingered his dark tie. "I was the one who brought Dal Riata to you. I will miss her most of all, even if we often found each other on opposite sides of debates, applying the same principles of Light, but seeing different colors, as if split by a prism. She was an ancient Queen of ancient Queens, fit to lead as are few others. Riata is the Line Royal, the line of power." He touched the clip enclosing the black silk. It was silver, inscribed with a circle and forty straight, short rays. "We are many, we are one. Very well, let us hail the new Riata. When shall this be?"

The Aborigine held his hand out, supine, waiting until the Suebi took it. They gripped each other's forearms, Roman-style, then released, each shifting the grasp to between his own arms in the same way. "When it shall be. We are many, we are one."

\--o-0-o--

over the Atlantic Ocean  
Monday, 7:14 pm

Fox Mulder closed his well-thumbed copy of "Death at La Fenice." He was restless from the hours strapped in his seat, but, these were First Class, so he intended to enjoy the amenities his stepfather had purchased for their return journey to the States. Wherever they would be flying next, he knew it would be in the constricted passage the FBI would pay for when they were on a case. He leaned over his partner, who was deeply engrossed in Cavalli-Sforza's 'The History and Geography of Human Genes.' "Hey."

She marked the lead sentence of the paragraph she was reading with a Post-it, before closing the thick volume as she rotated it to balance on her lap. "Hum?" She had been drifting off to sleep, rereading the same densely-written sentence several times to stay alert. 

Chuckling, he poked the cover. "That your idea of light reading, Doctor? A thousand pages?" He shook his head.

She tucked her chin. "I was expecting to make more progress, especially on these trans-Atlantic flights. But, on the passage east to Athens, all I wanted to do was sleep, then, well, I had other things on my mind." She angled her face up to meet his. "So, what's on *your* mind, Mulder? You've been fidgeting for a good half an hour, at least."

The dark-haired agent twisted to face her. "I've just been thinking about how we're going to proceed once we're back in DC."

She slid the thick volume to rest beside her hip. _This might be a while._ "Oh?"

He bent down to catch her eye. "We'll need to go to the Vineyard immediately to look into my Father's death, Scully. How much do you know about Nantucket and the other islands?" He found himself grinning. "Outside of old Herman's guidebooks, of course."

She studied him for a moment. "The Vineyard? Why there? Your Father's house is gone, and he's buried in Boston." As he shook his head, both ginger eyebrows jumped. "But, Mulder, I went to his funeral there. Caroline was there and it was huge."

He bent close to keep his reply down to a whisper. "That's what my Dad wanted. He was afraid of something. He kept going on about bodily integrity and how he had to be buried whole, not autopsied, and never, never cremated. Beyond that, he'd never tell me or Mom, but he made us swear to bury him on the Vineyard, while staging that fake funeral. He even created a special fund to pay for both." Unconsciously, his hazel eyes flicked to the businessman sitting motionlessly across the narrow aisle from him.

As her auburn hair brushed his shoulder, her response was almost soundless. "What was he afraid of, Mulder? He had been out of the State Department for decades." She looked up into his face, hovering just a centimeter or two from hers.

A lifetime of sorrow, fear, and deep regret hovered in his eyes. "Like he'd tell me? Dad had a big, fancy headstone all prepared for the Boston ceremony, and another for the Vineyard. No name, just his initials. No dates. He wanted us to know, but no one else." He shoved the paperback in the seat pocket as he straightened. "You're the first person I've told about this, Scully." He hugged himself protectively.

"So, Mulder, everything I saw was a sham? What about the investigation into his shooting? Was that a fake as well? They had the ballistics data on the bullet used to kill your Father-"

He was shaking his head. "Scully, who told you about that?"

She shifted to face him, reminded again of how little they had shared with each other of their time apart after New Mexico. "Director Skinner and I discussed it."

The tall agent chewed his lower lip for a moment before he responded. "Who was directed by the Smoker, no doubt. Whatever you heard about his death; it was a lie. Mom confirmed that to me while you were recovering in the hospital in Athens. Max was with you, so we could speak in private." Looking down at her, he sent her a crooked grin. "My Dad was always afraid someone would come for his body, so he wanted to keep it hidden from the rest of the world. He made me promise, and Mom, too." 

She crossed her arms. "So, you think *He* was involved in this cover-up?"

Rubbing his face, he nodded. "I'm sure of it, Scully."

With a sigh, she started massaging her temples. "Just when I thought I was coming to understand your family, you tell me this." She looked up at him. "Your sister is a scientist. Once you and she are reunited, I hope we can become good friends." She lowered her hand to tap his wrist with her minimus finger. "As close as you and I are, Mulder."

He started blinking at her, opened his mouth once, then, he flushed, but kept silent. His eyebrows canted, before he stared down at his hands. _I want that, too._ Words failed his thoughts as he felt deep gratitude suffuse him. Whatever darkness would assail them, he believed the three women who mattered most in his life would come to stand united against it. 

Sensing his mental retreat, the auburn-haired pathologist hastened to reassure him. "Caroline has been so wonderful to me, especially these past two months. As has Max." She found herself momentarily distracted by the small, rounded maritime clouds topping the deep blue of the ocean. "I feel like I have a second family in those two."

"You do, Scully, you do."

The edge to his voice had her turning to grasp his wrist tightly. "But, I don't know what to make of your Father, especially given what I know about your time with him." She released his arm to cross her own again. "I can't begin to understand how he thought, or why he did what he did. To you." She checked his face. "To Caroline."

"Scully." His gaze dropped to his knees. "Please." Her honest, open sympathy set a cascade of emotions churning inside of him, driving him to retreat into silence.

She drew a long breath, wanting to take him away from the horrors he was reliving, so she threw him the strongest support she could offer: her rationality. "Mulder, on a different subject." Her calm, even tones settled him, the restless shifting ceased, so she returned to one of their earlier topics of conversation. "You'll be okay with Pendrell and Phillips coming to the Field Office to work with us?"

Deeply grateful for the shelter she was extending, he nodded. "Yes. Pendrell surprised me in Africa." One cheek twitched. "I always thought he was just a geek with a crush on you." He lifted out the Leon to begin fiddling with a frayed corner on the back cover.

She shook her head. "No, he really enjoys researching whatever we bring him, in case you hadn't noticed. He'll try new techniques for us, ones the rest of the Bureau isn't prepared to accept. Phillips is just as good, when she can calm down around me. She'll pull new procedures out of the Forensics journals to try them out. I'd like to encourage her to do more of that."

Feeling the emotional churn dispersing, now, he thought of the documents in his carry-on bag, stashed in the overhead. _Perhaps this is the right time._ He looked over to see she was eyeing him expectantly. "Scully?" He unclipped his seat belt.

She waited. He was no longer anxious, or laser-focused, as he would be if they were debating aspects of a case. He seemed excited, and, for Mulder, almost happy. "Yes?"

He popped the elevated bin door, took down his backpack, then lifted out two plain brown folders to press against his chest. "I..." He sighed. "I wasn't going to give you these until we were back in DC, and Skinner wanted to be there, but, here." He shyly guided them into her waiting hands, tucked the rucksack away, then sat before he tapped the packets three times. "Open the one underneath first."

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Christmas, Mulder? Have we crossed the Equator on the way to Australia?"

Settling onto the wide leather seat, he found himself edgy, yet eager for her next reaction.

She slid the bottom folder out to open it. The official document had "Office of Management and Budget" at the top, with the subject being, "Reclassification of Position." She studied the papers, her frown deepening. "Mulder?" She looked up into his gleaming hazel eyes. "Is this for real? I'm officially to become co-Section Head with you?"

He nodded. "Skinner and I agreed. It was time for you to get something for all your hard work, Scully. No raise, of course. Just more responsibility, for us both."

She closed the folder, holding the two tightly. "So, when did you..." She shook her head, then looked up at him. "No, first, thank you. I'm deeply honored. I wasn't expecting anything like this. Thank you." They held each other's gaze for a moment, then she studied the papers. "We're reforming the X-Files into two sections, one in the east coast and one on the west. You and I are in overall charge of the enlarged group?"

He smirked. "Yeah, we'll still outrank Nichols and his section by seniority, even if we don't have the title he does."

One eyebrow remaining canted, she turned her face upward. "When did you get these?"

The dark-haired agent began fiddling with the Leon again. "Oh, when you were in the hospital in Athens, getting checked out before we got on the plane." He sent her a tiny, shaky grin. "Skinner and I talked about it while you were recovering on Santorini after you first got there. He brought it up, and I'd been wanting something like this for you for years." When he shifted to face her, the unalloyed admiration in his eyes had her staring at her knees. "They'd just been approved by OMB, so he express-mailed them to the field office. It took that long for the paperwork to get through the system. Matheson agreed to the revised structure when Skinner brought it up with him, in fact, he wondered what took the Bureau so long to make it happen." He was astonished to see her jaw drop.

"But, Mulder, I didn't know if I was going to be healthy enough to stay in the X-Files, or even the FBI! What would you have done if I had resigned?"

He studied the yellowed edges of the paperback, willing away the blackness the possibility of her departure always brought up in him. "I don't know." The words were barely audible. He lifted his head to throw her a haunted, desperate glance. "I couldn't have used something like this to make you stay. That would have been wrong, on so many levels. You had to evaluate your own health, make your choice." He clasped, then released, her wrist. "I didn't – I don't – want you to leave the X-Files, ever, Scully. You know that. We've gotten so far, exposed so much, since we chose to work together closely, as a real team, as genuine partners, not where I try to give you orders, we fight, then we can't close investigations. But, if you had felt you had to..." He gripped the Leon tightly. "I'd rather you were safe, even if you weren't..."

Her small hand closed over the spine of the book, catching his fingers underneath it. "Thank you, Mulder. I don't know what else to say." After a single shake, she pressed her palm into the pages in the folder.

Straightening, he rested the novel on his knees. "Open the other one." She sensed the words as hoarse breath, not as sound.

Turning the cover, she nearly dropped the papers on her lap in surprise, then gasped. "You put me in for a commendation?"

He was fidgeting again. A simple yes was the best he could do.

She looked up at him. "For the Alexandria Courthouse? But, I was just doing my job. There were people, Stone, there who needed my help. What else was I supposed to do, Mulder?"

He smirked. "Avoid the cameras, Scully?"

Her auburn eyebrows drew together. "But, there's this hearing with Blevins I'll have to attend. And my being relieved of my investigative function back when I thought you were dead in New Mexico. Won't those eliminate any possibility of promotion or recognition?"

He shook his head. "No, Scully, no." He was whispering. _Not if I have anything to say about it._ He raised his voice to its normal timbre. "You have to understand; the commendation order came down straight from Director Freeh. He saw you on CNN, covered in blood and dust, just like the rest of us. When he learned who you were and what you did, he called Skinner personally, at home. He thinks what you did embodied everything the Bureau wants to believe is true about itself: injured agent risks life to save others." His hands painted the words in the air. "Once this pro-forma session with Blevins is over, there will be an official ceremony." He bent over her. "Scully? You really okay?"

She had both palms on her cheeks, her fingers pressing into her eyes, her shoulders shaking. "For me? All this for me?" She could barely whisper in her astonishment and gratitude.

"Scully?" He was reaching for her wrists. "Scully?" It never failed to amaze him how little his forthright and inventive partner thought of herself. That, at least, they had in common.

Dropping her hands, she looked up at him, her eyes shining. "Thank you, Mulder. Thank you." She crossed her arms tightly over both folders. "I didn't know."

His eyebrows canted. "You weren't supposed to. It wouldn't have been a surprise, otherwise."

\--o-0-o--

Dulles Airport  
Dulles, Virginia  
Tuesday, June 2, 1998  
10:54 pm

Overhead, the illuminated hands clutching a seat belt switched from orange to grey, so the partners rose to begin retrieving their luggage from the overhead bins, he passing down her laptop bag before hauling out his own backpack. The summertime thunderstorms that had looked so menacing as they had crossed over the Norfolk area had offered a light-show and some impressive rumbles as the pilot had diverted around them. But there had been no significant turbulence, which had been a great relief to the diminutive agent.

She tucked the brown folders under the computer in the main compartment, then slid the strap over her shoulder, but held onto the Cavalli-Sforza as she waited beside him for the passenger compartment doors to open. "So, Mulder, any thoughts?"

The dark-haired man pressed himself against the opposite seats so she could step ahead of him, resting his hand on her shoulder briefly as the aisle cleared ahead. "Six months, Scully."

She smiled up at him gently. "Yes, it'll feel like Santorini when you step out, but give it another six months..."

He sent her a lop-sided grin. "You'll be hopping on a plane to head east, come January, won't you?" After the homeless case and the trips to the Arctic, he knew she had very little patience with the cold and the dark.

She shook her head as she stepped into the elevated bus that would take them to the terminal. "No. We need to get to work. There is too much at stake." They found spaces on one of the short center benches, then waited for the rest of the passengers to fill the transport.

He picked up a Washington Post that had been shoved under the seat by a previous occupant. The A section, opened to page 6, was folded in quarters on itself, framing the continuation of a story on the rising "Earth First" movement. This was not the radical environmental group, but a loose coalition of organizations that had appropriated the name, promoting an isolationism that was coalescing in some areas of the country into a reaction against further planetary exploration. As he scanned the text, he felt his partner leaning against him, then she placed a hand on his arm to move the paper down where she could read, too. Enjoying the intensity of her focus, he smiled down at the auburn crown, fearing there would be few quiet moments like this in their future.

Both red eyebrows furrowed, she raised her green-blue eyes to his hazel ones. "I wonder if he's the one behind this."

Mulder sighed, then responded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or, whether he'll exploit it for his own ends, just as the Four tried to exploit the Neo-Nazis. The demographics are remarkably similar." The bus began backing away from the plane, so they grasped the nearest hand-rails as it swayed while lowering to the ground.

The older, balding businessman in a rumpled tan suit, who had sat across the aisle from them during the flight, leaned over to ask, "Are you finished with that?"

Mulder looked down at his partner, who nodded, so he handed the paper away.

The older man settled, but, when his gaze fell on the article they were reading, he tossed the pages contemptuously on the plastic cushion beside him. "The whole world is crazy these days."

The agents exchanged a glance, but kept silent, not knowing what to expect next.

"Aliens! Is this the best distraction Clinton can come up with? We know he's up to no good, just like he was in Arkansas." The businessman shook his head. "I hear things from the Little Rock office. Shady real estate deals we should be investigating, those bimbos of his, Hillary." He sneered at the petite woman. "You're probably a big supporter of hers, aren't you?"

One auburn eyebrow arched. "The Bureau is apolitical, Sir. We identify, arrest, and convict any wrongdoers, regardless of party, gender, religion, or orientation. We solve crimes and serve and protect the American people."

Mulder was unable to tip his head far enough forward to read his partner's face in such confined space, but, could imagine the Look she was boring into the older passenger. So he was not surprised, when he turned, to see the businessman leaning back in his seat to put distance between them. Further, he suspected the words, spoken with the simple authority of any agent in the FBI, were striking a deep incongruity in the psyche of the balding man.

The disoriented entrepreneur huffed, rubbed his eyes under his thick lenses, then glared at the dark-haired agent. "You don't let her boss you around, do you? Wives shouldn't be in charge of anything other than baking lemon squares and scrubbing toilets."

Mulder's eyes cooled to their greyest, but he matched his partner's self-control, offering only a single shake of his head in response.

Now the older passenger was infuriated. "You do, don't you? Bet she makes more money that you do, too. That's wrong. That's wrong for America." He tossed the Post onto the next seat. "That's wrong for the world." He yanked his suit bag from its fold on his lap, then stalked to one the doors in the line built into the right side of the bus, which was approaching the terminal.

The dark-haired man leaned over his partner as they began gathering their own luggage from around their feet, stacking them into pyramids to make them easy to heft. "I don't think we can blame Old Smokey for that finely-calibrated conspiracy theory, Scully."

Suitably laden with wide black padded straps, she rose. "Or, for how people only see the truths they want to see, Mulder. That never changes."

He placed a dramatic hand on his chest in mock offense, then nodded as he stepped along behind her while they waited to exit.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, June 3, 1998  
7:12 am

Dana Scully had found herself tossing and turning through the darkness, despite her fatigue from the flight. Her body, she knew, was still relaxing according to the slow clocks on Santorini, not confined to her sagging mattress. _I'll have to replace this soon. It's past being comfortably soft._ Her restless mind was working to recognize and catalogue all the sounds of the DC suburbs, so different from the downy silence of Thera in the night. The planes landing at National had disturbed her, as did the grinding gears and squealing brakes of delivery trucks rattling up and down Alexandria's long, straight streets. As she listened, she became aware there was someone shuffling outside her door. Hoping it was neither her partner, whom she had seen off from the airport shuttle outside his Arlington apartment building to what little rest she knew he would have as well, nor a new adversary, so soon, she slid out from under the sheets. The auburn-haired pathologist lifted the short key off the hook on the back of her bedside table to unlock the gun case that occupied the lower shelf there. Once opened, she slid out her SIG in its holster, unclipped the weapon, then padded silently to the door.

But, a voice called out from beyond the white wood. "Dana, it's Mom. I'm letting myself in." The tumblers lifted as Margaret inserted her key in the doorknob.

Scully re-engaged the safety as she placed the gun on a shelf beside the hinged side of the door before throwing back the dead-bolt. _Mom doesn't need to see weapons right now._ She ushered the older woman in, then turned the locks. "Mom? What are you doing here? How did you know we were home? Are you okay?"

Margaret stepped over to one of the living room windows, then pushed the drapes open a crack to check outside. "I came by your place to make certain it was ready, before your return. I had to restock your refrigerator and water your plants at least, Dana. But, I saw that there was a man in a dark suit hanging around the building. I thought it was suspicious, so I wanted to tell you. After everything I've seen with Caroline and Max, I didn't want to use the phone."

Scully joined her mother before sliding the drapes open fully. "Thanks, Mom, but don't worry about that. It's only Agent Talling, from the Bureau. I suspect Director Skinner has someone watching Mulder's place, too."

"Ah." The dark-haired woman turned to hug her second, now only, daughter. "Then I won't think about it." She patted the younger woman's back. "You feel stronger, Dana, and not so terribly thin. The time away must have been good for you."

Scully guided Margaret over to her green and white striped couch. She would not relate all of the difficulties of her remaining time in Santorini to her Mother, just yet. She was deeply relieved to have them behind her, so after they sat, she chose a simple response. "Well, I guess it was. But, I'm on estrogen now."

Margaret studied her daughter's face. "Your Grandma O'Shea had to do the same thing." She offered the auburn-haired agent a hesitant smile before apologizing. "I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner. It may have saved you some worry." She could have easily added 'and Fox' to her statement, as she remembered the exhausting, frantic terror that gripped him during the hours following the bombing at the Alexandria Courthouse.

One auburn eyebrow arched. "I didn't know about Grandma. Thanks for telling me." She crossed her arms. "Mom? You still haven't said why you're here. How did you know I was coming home? Mulder and I made the decision rather abruptly." She refrained from further details, although she wanted to share, later, with the older woman the thrill of the investigation and discovery of those faked Minoan artifacts. It was one of the few of their cases she could relate to her without inducing terror, or so she hoped.

The brown-haired woman smiled. "Caroline called, once you and Fox were underway. She had wanted to have a conversation."

Scully rose to walk back into her bedroom so she could finish unpacking. She set up a luggage rack, shifted the duffel onto it, then slid the hamper from beside the bathroom door to stand next to it. She eyed her Mother, who had followed her into the bedroom. "Ah. She did? About?"

Margaret was tugging the sheets and covers back in place, plumping the pillows, then smoothing out the quilt before she sat on it with a huff. _I taught you girls better than that._

After an irritated sigh, the diminutive agent prompted her with a one-word question. "Mom?"

Almost without thinking, the older woman began lifting out clothing to pass to her daughter. "She was worried about why I had been so distant after I returned." She looked up into the younger woman's face. "It's been Charlie, you see." She shook her head at the arched ginger eyebrow. "He, Valerie, and the boys had all been down with a very late case of the flu, so they needed me." She held up a bundled pair of green running socks, sniffed them, then tossed them toward the hamper. "It was hard to have to try to coordinate with Valerie's sister, Donna, about caring for all of them. You remember Donna from the wedding, don't you? She has a husband and three girls of her own, now."

The diminutive agent retrieved the socks from the hamper to carry them to the mahogany dresser, then groaned softly as she dropped them into a drawer. "Ah." Her mother was stuck on *that* subject. Again. "Oh, Mom. Please..."

"Please, what, Dana? I'm not nagging you, about anything, if that's what you're thinking." Margaret watched her daughter frown at the lower right back of an over-sized tan polo shirt the auburn-haired woman was holding up to the light. "I'm glad you, and Fox, are home safe. I just need to talk to someone about all that's happened these past few months."

Scully folded the cotton polo in half lengthwise, turned over the short sleeves, then rolled it up into a tight coil, but left it on top of her dresser. "Mom. What do you mean? I'm okay. Mulder has found his sister. He'll be heading out to see her as soon as we get settled back at work." There was little else that would matter, at least to the older woman. "What else could there possibly be for us to discuss?"

The dark-haired woman rose, then walked around the hamper to her daughter's side. "Dana, you know that's not what I mean. Saturn Five rockets launching out of the savanna while you and he are down there, and I can't talk to you about it?" She crossed her arms. "It's been all over the news. That image flashes over and over again, and I can't help but think of the time right after your hysterectomy, all that nonsense with you and Fox being mistaken as drug dealers." She stopped her daughter's restless motion with a hand on her arm. "What's happening with those creatures you and Fox were after when you left? With that scowling, taciturn bearded man, and that older woman, Christina Knox, who took you two away so quickly? I didn't want to press Caroline about it. That woman had upset her and Max so much."

The auburn-haired pathologist chewed her lower lip for a moment. Her Mother had no frame of reference to comprehend what they had found in the abandoned Consortium facility. But, she could understand the confusion, since, a few years ago, neither had she. "Mom." She hugged the older woman briefly. "There are things we do you don't need to think about. We shouldn't even be discussing them here. We don't know who might be listening."

"Dana!" Margaret stepped away. "I'm not a child, you know. I remember the stories your grandfathers told about the Second World War. If what I saw is true, this could be far, far worse."

The auburn-haired agent nodded. "Yes, Mom, it could be. I know this is hard, but - " At the knock on the door, she turned. "Excuse me."

The dark-haired woman followed her daughter out. "Dana! Please!"

But Scully's attention was elsewhere. "Mulder!" She stepped back so he could enter. "I thought I had convinced you to sleep the rest of the day?"

He was in his black suit and a new tie, cobalt blue, white Doric columns toppled to odd angles running in diagonal lines down the silk. His hazel eyes gleamed at her. "Nope, Doctor, duty calls." Finally, he noticed Margret standing beside his partner. "Hey, Mrs. Scully." He extended his arms toward her.

The older woman moved into his embrace. "Good to see you on this side of the Atlantic, Fox."

He clutched her closely, rubbing circles along her spine, before moving back to hold her by the shoulders. "She's okay, you know. She's really okay."

Her hand on his cheek, Margaret nodded. "I know." She tugged at the price tag she could see dangling just below the end of the silk. "Thanks to you." She raised her gaze to see him smiling down at her, then returned the expression.

But, he was releasing her to step over to the pathologist as he shifted focus to his partner. "Go slip into some G-woman duds, Scully. We have a meeting with Skinner in-" He checked his Swiss army watch. "-thirty minutes."

The diminutive agent tossed her head. "Was this your idea, or his?"

He clucked in mock horror. "Doctor." He placed his hand on his chest. "I would never invent a meeting with Dad, now would I?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear as she turned. "I suppose not. Was your place being watched when you got home?"

After canting his eyes toward the older woman, he nodded. "Sills. Pendrell filled me in on the precautions when he stopped by for a quick check over my apartment. I thought he'd only do the honors on yours."

"Hum." She pumped her chin at his jibe, then stepped into her hall, moving purposefully toward the bedroom. "Give me five."

Margaret watched the door close behind her daughter. "You've done wonders for her, Fox. This is the best she's looked in months."

Embers of sorrow burned in his eyes. "Thanks. It was rough for her for a while." He began fishing in his jacket pocket. "I want to show you someone, Mrs. Scully."

She eyed the packet of prints in his hand. "Is this your sister?"

The hazel glittered as he passed the stack to her. "Yes."

Margaret settled on the sofa to turn the glossy sheets over one at a time, laying one on the cushions as she worked through the stack. "She's as beautiful as you are handsome, Fox. You said she is a professor?" She met his gaze with a gentle smile.

Fidgeting with delight, he nodded. "Of fluid dynamics." His dark eyebrows drew together. "And an amateur sleuth, apparently."

Finished, she rose to step over to him, holding one image out as she walked.

The tall agent studied the photograph for a moment. "That's her cat." He frowned. "Or, that's her other cat, I guess."

"But, how did you get these? Dana said you were still making plans to go see her."

"Skinner brought them to us at the hospital in Athens. They're official Bureau documents, so I need to add them to my sister's file."

Margaret cocked her head at this fragment of new information, but kept silent.

"He had been holding them in safe-keeping for me and Mom." The dark-haired man began pacing. "I haven't had the opportunity."

The older woman frowned. "But, you're going, soon, right?"

Mulder's gaze fixed on Scully's door. "Yeah." The reply was non-committal. "As soon as – Hey! Record time." He pointed a long finger at her feet. "No spikes. That's good."

His partner had emerged, wearing a pair of flat black pumps, only slightly darker than the charcoal linen pantsuit she had pulled over a grey silk blouse. "I'm not used to that rarefied air." She handed the rolled tan polo to her partner, who tucked it in his jacket pocket as she turned to her mother. "Mom. I hope you haven't talked to anyone about what happened to you in the Med. Not even Charlie or Bill."

As she slid the prints back into their folder, Margaret checked both their faces. "Outside of general vacation-type stories, no, I haven't. I needed to have someone who could explain them to me." She passed the photographs back to the tall agent. "Which would be either of you."

Suddenly very serious, Mulder bent to grasp her shoulder. "Mrs. Scully, this is extremely important. We don't know where we stand right now."

She nodded. "But I need help, Fox, this is all so much to process."

The partners exchanged a glance before he slid his arm around the older woman. "I know it is, but, you have to stay safe. The less you know, the less you can be endangered for. They've taken innocents when it suited their purposes. I don't want anything to happen to you." He clutched her momentarily, then guided her toward the exit. Scully was holding it open as she tucked her SIG back in its holster, now clipped at the small of her back. "Ever. I've just found my sister, and I don't want to lose anyone else I care about." He glanced down at his partner, then the three headed out into the hall, Mulder and Margaret waiting side-by-side while the auburn-haired agent locked the door.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
Third Floor  
FBI Washington Field Office  
601 4th Street NW  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, June 3, 1998  
8:03 am

Cynthia Mulholland scribbled the final result of the derivation from her last Calculus II homework on the back of an early draft of Director Skinner's latest memo. There had been so much FBI work claiming her attention the past few weeks she was considering cutting back from two classes to one in the fall. With the appearance of that first article in the Post on the trial of Tyrell Saunders, then with the further investigations into the bombing of the Alexandria Courthouse, Gloria had been asked to come temporarily back from retirement to help with it all. She looked up when she heard the stairwell doors open, then, the voices spilling out had her on her feet to rush into the doorway.

"Scully, the agents downstairs barely recognized us." She imagined he was bent over his partner as they walked and talked. When she stuck her head out, she pushed her long brown hair out of the way, then congratulated herself silently on her intuition.

The diminutive pathologist was looking back up at him. "Yes, the spaces are only half occupied, so it won't be like the warrens at the Hoover Building, at least not for a while."

The slender, lithe girl-woman took several running steps toward them. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, I'm here."

The pair fell in step on either side of her as all three entered the new X-Files offices of the partners. Once inside, Cynthia hugged them both in turn, first, Mulder, then Scully. The brown-haired man stood with his fists on his hips as he surveyed their new space. It was smaller than the second-floor offices, which bothered him not at all. But, he grunted, bringing both women's gazes over at him.

The pathologist had left her arm around Cynthia. "Mulder?"

"Coffee?" He canted his eyebrows at the unlined face of their admin.

She smiled. "In your office, Agent Mulder. I rearranged a bit while you two were away. I was able to move most of the X-Files into Agent Scully's office." She stepped away from the diminutive woman. "It's still just as organized, Agent Scully, and according to your system. But, I was able to snag us some over-tall filing cabinets, so it takes up the same floor space."

Enjoying the sight of his partner's tucked chin, Mulder rolled his eyes in mock-horror. He expected she would be thoroughly assessing the changes to her careful arrangements. "Still happy to be back, Doctor?"

She waved a hand at him before turning to the younger woman. "So, Cynthia, how are you doing?" The three of them left unspoken the events that had traumatized their brown-haired admin from Iowa, who had been a victim of the late Gilbert Lindhauer's scheming.

Cynthia hugged her petite superior again. "It's been busy, Agent Scully. But now that you're both here, maybe it won't be so rough on Director Skinner."

The agents exchanged a glance, but it was Mulder who voiced the question. "Rough? What do you mean? In what way?"

Cynthia settled on one of the straight-backed chairs set up in a line outside Scully's office. "The media attention isn't dying back down the way we thought it all would."

Nodding, Scully stepped into her space. _We were expecting that._ The filing cabinets were, as the younger woman had said, floor to ceiling banks of drawers and shelves. To accommodate them both, Cynthia had finagled, from somewhere, a rickety folding step ladder, placed just inside the entrance, to reach the top units. But what caught her attention was her computer, which was unplugged from both the network and wall power. "Cynthia? Were you having trouble with hacking in our absence?" She stepped into Mulder's office via the adjoining door, still held open by her Father's Naugahyde recliner. Her partner's Mackintosh had always been kept off the network, but, it, too, was silent, the monitor dark.

Cynthia was right behind her. "I disconnected Agent Mulder's on Director Skinner's advice. We do have power fluctuations here." She pointed back into Scully's office. "But yours, Agent Scully, was under repeated attack. Mister Frohike - " She blinked for a moment at Scully's cocked eyebrow. " - said that was the safest thing to do."

Mulder, who was now sprawled in his plush chair with his feet crossed on the dark oak desk top, chuckled. "Oh?"

Wide-eyed, Cynthia nodded. "Yes. This may sound odd, Agent Mulder, but he thinks it's the UFO groups who are trying to hack your machines."

After he shifted upright, Mulder rubbed his face with both hands. "Who, MUFON? NICAP? They can get everything from the Gunmen's web-pages, X-Files included. Why would they need to break in here?"

"That's one of the items we need to discuss, Agents." Walter Skinner spoke from where he stood, in the doorway into the main hall. "If you would follow me." He pointed into his office, right next door to theirs.

\--o-0-o--

The three agents settled into familiar chairs, Skinner behind his desk, Mulder and Scully on the boxy seats in front. The view behind Skinner's head was not Pennsylvania Avenue, but the red bricks of the National Building Museum. Mid-morning sun reflected off the glass arcade set in the tympanum in the upraised roof, then into the office, setting the room alight. The bald director leaned back, steepling his fingers as he regarded the two X-Team co-heads across from him. Dana Scully was poised, upright, but not inflexible, her hands resting open on her lap. She was not the battered, gaunt woman he had bundled onto a plane so many months ago to place in her partner's care. She looked rested, fit, and, dare he think it, content. The dark-haired agent, however, was fidgeting, barely able to keep his seat.

Mulder forced himself into rigidity. "Sir, what is this about hacking by UFO groups?"

The bald director gritted his teeth. "This will surprise you as much as it surprised me, Agents, but you, Mulder, are now considered a traitor to the cause."

The partners exchanged a glance before the auburn-haired pathologist gripped the metal arms of the chair. "But, why, Sir? We've revealed the existence of extraterrestrials to the world with clear, incontrovertible, and scientifically verified proof. The rocket that launched out of Africa was tracked independently in several telescopic surveys. It sped up as it departed the ecliptic plane on a course perpendicular to our solar system. Its velocity was greater than any artificial satellite launched to date, and it was issuing patterned, repeated, broadband electromagnetic emissions as it went, signals that are now being analyzed for language content. There can be no other explanation for all these facts." She cocked an eyebrow. "What more could they want?"

Mulder was pacing the room now. "It's not that simple, Scully." Both her green-blue and Walter Skinner's brown eyes tracked him as he circled the conference table. "The confirmation of the existence of extraterrestrials isn't what they were thinking they were going to get. They wanted proof of a government cover-up, not Saturn Five rockets launching from the African savanna and broadcast to the world through Earth-observing satellite imagery. It's become an open question for science and diplomacy to address, not conspiracists."

She rose to walk over to him. "So, it's only their version of events they wanted affirmed, not the actual, whole truth."

Remembering the angry businessman on the shuttle, he sighed. "Yeah, true believers can be like that." Attempting to lighten the mood, he leaned into her face. "Your cool light of reason doesn't necessarily penetrate every corner of the human psyche, Pallas."

She tapped his linen-clad elbow to lead him back to his chair.

Skinner checked both of their faces in turn. Despite all the years he had known these two, he would never fully grasp the complex, riddling code they used with each other. _Palace? Why was he referring to her as a building?_ The bald director cleared his throat before returning the discussion to the changes of the last few months. "I thought the media circus would be our only problem." The three would not discuss the changes in the Shadow powers here, not even in an enclosed space swept regularly for listening devices by the Gunmen. Skinner stepped out from behind his desk. "Agents, walk with me." He held the door as they left, the three nodding to Cynthia as they passed her.

But the brown-haired woman had her tongue stuck out slightly, barely responding to their farewells. She was struggling with the chemical formulae she was balancing, wondering if she had time to stop by the Hoover Building to get Agent Phillips to help, or whether the brown-haired chemist would be buried in more wedding magazines and seating charts.

\--o-0-o--

Along 4th Street  
Wednesday, 8:47 am

Even with the morning DC rush hour winding down to an early summer close, the noise from traffic would easily drown out the quiet conversation the Assistant Director wanted to conduct with his agents. The partners had settled on one of the facing pair of stone benches along the wide sidewalks in front of the FBI building, while he stood in front of them. "I'll be taking a limo to see Senator Matheson, now that you have both returned."

Scully looked over at Mulder, then leaned forward. "Sir, is the Morley Man continuing to try to recruit you back into the Organization?"

Thinking of a dark exchange of fists in the Hoover Building parking garage, the bald Assistant Director shook his head. "Outside of his one attempt, no. He's planning something. Of that, we can all be certain, but, he hasn't firmed up a sufficiently convoluted scheme to set in motion." He tugged at his tie. "With you two coming back before you were expected, he'll have to accelerate his plans to try to regain the advantage."

The dark-haired agent fidgeted. "We've been considering possibilities for his attacks for the past few days, Sir." He checked his partner's face. "We know there are other groups like his, in the Far East and Europe. That's why Rosen and Nichols are on the West Coast, while we remain here. Whether he thinks he can play us, too – "

Scully rested her hand on her partner's arm, but looked up at their superior. "Sir, if there was ever a time to come out with what you know..."

The Assistant Director rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "It's not what I know, it's what can be documented. You two had verified much of Saunders's debrief before the trial. I suggest you review it carefully. He was deeper in the Organization than I ever was." He shook his head, terminating that particular thread of the conversation, before regarding them both. There was much more he could say, but the time would come for that. Right now, he needed to be certain his assessment of the players in their situation was correct, so he sat down beside the auburn-haired pathologist. "Agent Scully, I have to ask - "

She lifted her chin. "I am well, Sir. The problems I was having when you saw me last are resolved." The glint in the green-blue eyes was laser-intense.

Skinner shook his head. "That's a relief to hear, but, I mean, in terms of your family, and, now, I am asking for complete candor, Scully." He caught Mulder's glance at her face, but she remained resolute, so he pressed forward. "Do you think your brothers will be an asset as we go forward, or will they be a liability?"

If she could have sat up straighter, she would have. "They would never do anything to knowingly betray their oaths as officers of the US Navy, Sir."

The bald man sighed. While he deeply respected the way she instinctively closed ranks with the two red-haired men he had glimpsed but briefly once, now was not the time for her to shield them behind their uniforms. He needed to hear from the logical, analytical scientist whose work he had always admired. "I know that. But, could they be misled, misdirected?"

She crossed her arms. "You mean, as they were last year?" She was unwilling to relate to anyone other than her partner just how far they had pushed her to retain command of her life, control she refused to grant them. But they were family, so she would lay down even her life for them as she sought to defeat the powers that had almost brought Bill and Charlie under their thumb.

The dark-haired agent leaned closer to her. "Scully, if it would help, I can speak with them. They've lost one sister. That they'd let - "

Skinner rose. "No, Agent Mulder. Not you. If anyone, I will. I know what will bring them around." He gritted his teeth. "I know what would bring me around."

Mulder was on his feet, facing his superior. "Sir, there's only so much we can tell them!"

The Assistant Director narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "Oh, besides all the evidence you two have so carefully made available to the general public? They'll need more than that. Even a mountain of facts isn't convincing when decisions have different, emotion-based motivations." He eyed the approaching limo. "Shall we go?"

Scully rose to step between her partner and the Assistant Director, locking her gaze with Mulder's before she asked, "Sir?"

Skinner took the three steps down to the street level. "We *all* have a meeting with Senator Matheson, Agents. I suggest we not be late."

The dark-haired agent moved to the bald man's side. "Now that Lindhauer and McConnell are dead, he won't have to keep us at arm's length, will he?"

Skinner shook his head as the long black vehicle pulled up. After the uniformed driver stepped out to open both rear doors, the three climbed in.

\--o-0-o--

Whisperhill Research  
Beltsville, MD  
Wednesday, 8:47 am

"Sir, this just came for you."

Long fingers extended to take a square package, then waved the younger man from his presence.

The old spy leaned back in his chair, turning the paper-wrapped container over in his hands, studying the return address in Korean. _So, what is the lovely Amanda up to now?_ He had had no idea, when he took the brown-haired woman under his tutelage, just how agile her questing mind would prove. He reached in his pocket for the foil-wrapped packet, but stopped. This younger generation was refusing to tolerate his habits, which, while an inconvenience, would be indulged, for the present.

Stepping away from his desk, he tucked the box under his arm, then headed down the hall to the bank of elevators in the core of the building.

A middle-aged operative, his once-brown hair thinning, fell in step beside him. "Sir, remember, we have to leave for the West Coast tomorrow."

His response began with a single curt nod. "Indeed. Good to see you being so thorough, Luther." He pressed the top button. "Set your mind at ease. I shan't be in the Computer Lab all day. We'll still be able to review our new operations this afternoon."

After the brass doors rolled shut, 'Charlie' materialized at Luther's elbow. "He's going up to talk to Lisa again, isn't he?"

The brown eyes narrowed. "He spends too much time with her, and not enough on the work." Luther faced the younger man. "I'd be worried if I were you. I haven't heard about Caroline Podhowitz for several weeks now. " He canted his hips slightly. "You still keeping her happy in the downstairs department?"

'Charlie' sighed. "I thought I was."

\--o-0-o--

Fourth Floor Computer Laboratory  
Whisperhill Research  
Beltsville, MD  
Wednesday, 8:58 am

When the elevator doors opened, 'Ace' looked up from the case of the computer she was building. "Ah, you brought it!" She trotted over to take the package he held out. Tearing off the packing paper, she let it fall to the floor as she walked.

Picking up the brown wrapping as he followed behind her, he sighed. _That intense focus of hers!_ "So, what are the People purchasing for you today, My Dear?"

A screwdriver, held horizontally, was halfway to her teeth. "This, oh, don't worry, it's just a CPU fan. The old one blew out on my new Tonga board. Those things run way hotter than I expected."

A dark eyebrow canted. He had decided to give full rein to her skills, but sometimes even he was at a loss to follow her. "Is this the new processor? It's not working out as you had thought?"

She was slipping on an anti-static wrist band. "It wasn't necessary, at least for right now, but I expect we'll need it here soon." She frowned as she began dismounting the dead fan.

"Why would that be?"

Finished, she flicked on the soldering station to wait for it to heat so she could disconnect the wires from the dead fan to the power supply, but, after a shake of her head, turned it back off. She unsnapped herself from the grounding strap, before moving to stand beside him. "We're not burning through funds as fast I as I feared when I asked you for this machine."

He fingered the packet in his pocket again. "I'm surprised to hear you say that, Amanda. We should have brought on a dozen new operatives in the last week alone. They will all need to be trained and paid."

Her head tilted, a brunette strand falling over her forehead. _I really need to get a haircut._ "I know. I thought we were going to be getting them on-board, too. But, come look at this." She headed over to her desk, piled high with wide green and white striped wide fan-folded sheets, thick paper-bound manuals, and cardboard cartons. After shifting several stacks to the floor, she retrieved a stapled packet, then turned to the next to last page. She pointed to the last line. "That's yesterday's report. The new operatives have fallen off the tally." She looked over at him, her eyes dark and owly through the thick lenses he had recently convinced her to purchase to reduce debilitating headaches from too many hours peering at code.

He lifted the pages from her fingers, careful not to contact her hands as he did so. He had no wish to provoke a scene such as had brought her to work directly for him several months earlier. Frowning, he turned the pages over, watching the numbers drop, rather than, as he had expected, increase." Finished, he handed the stack back to her. "Amanda, you should have told me about this sooner."

She tossed the pages back on her desk, setting a small avalanche in motion. "Oh, it wasn't that bad, at least not until now. I had initially suspected a rounding error in my software, but this is much beyond that."

He stepped over to try to set some order in her space. "But, at least you let me know. Thank you, My Dear. Many others would fear the consequences of informing me." Surrendering to the chaos, he straightened. "I would rather hear bad news as soon as possible, so we can plan."

But, she was already clipping the grounding strap back on her wrist. "No problem, Sir." She looked up, surprised that he, wearing a pinched expression, was by her elbow. "Just keep bringing the goodies, Santa, and we'll be okay." She offered him a quick little smile to send him on his way.

Knowing she would be lost to the world for the next few hours, he nodded. When he stepped into the elevator, he pressed the G button. He would submit to the indignity of a long smoke on the benches outside. He needed the time to formulate a strategy for these unexpected changes to his long-term plans.

\--o-0-o--

Russell Senate Office Building  
Washington DC  
Wednesday, 9:33 am

Richard Matheson paced in front of his long bank of windows, stopping to gaze across the street to the Capitol. With his seniority, he had earned a first-floor berth in the most prestigious of Senate offices, so he meant to exploit it for all he could, as long as the voters gave the Democrats their support. It was the nearing the end of the first half of Clinton's second term, but so far, the Republicans, still in the minority, had not found enough assent from the voters to cause trouble for his plans. He had not been expecting Mulder and Scully to return from the Mediterranean this soon. Some of his preparations for the expansion of the X-team remained incomplete. There were new agents to be brought in, trained up, then set along paths he knew would lead to the furtherance of all their goals.

His gaze fell on the framed photograph of his own sweet Kate, as he loved to tweak her, hugging their two daughters, Lydia and Julia, while on the family sailboat docked at Annapolis. The girls were at Harvard and Yale, now too far away for any father's preference. His mind left behind happier times as he turned his thoughts to matters at hand. Walter Skinner had kept him informed as to Agent Scully's health difficulties, for which he had the greatest of sympathy. Katherine, for very different reasons from the diminutive pathologist he would shortly be greeting, had been forced to undergo a similar operation, at only a few years older than she. They had both suffered through the fatigue, sleeplessness, and emotional turmoil it had precipitated. He had to give Mulder credit, knowing how draining it had been for both Katherine and himself. The dark-haired agent had been steadfast in the support of his partner, so now, Matheson hoped to reward them for choosing a straight path through their travails.

As he heard them arriving in his outer office, he squared his shoulders. He expected they would not accept unquestioningly the aid he was about to offer them, especially Mulder. While he appreciated the reasons underlying that paranoia, knowing it was, in many cases, justified, there was no time to waste. He would have to use all the diplomatic skills that had carried him to his current position to see to it that the Bureau continued to play its part in the long game he had initiated so many years ago.

One of his staff, a tall, lean African American, stepped into his office. "Sir, the agents from the Bureau are here."

He let his practiced smile spread over his face. "Send them in, Mister Jackson."

As the three entered, he bounded around the desk to greet them. "Agents, good to have you back." He shook Mulder's hand before focusing down on the auburn-haired woman, grasping her fingers lightly, surprised when she returned a firm grip. "You look well, Doctor Scully."

She nodded. "Ready to serve, Sir."

"That's good to hear." He waved to the claw-footed chairs in front of his desk, then turned to Walter Skinner as he extended his arm to the Assistant Director. "Walt, this is a most pleasant surprise."

The bald man case a sidelong glance at his agents. "Indeed, Sir." Aware, as he was, of the part he would be playing over the next few weeks, he hoped it would go as smoothly as possible.

Matheson walked over in front of the partners to speak while leaning against the scroll-work of his oak desk. "Agents, I have good news for you." He wanted to start the conversation on a positive note, then watched hazel and green-blue eyes lock before turning to look up at him. "We need to expand the X-Files section again, wouldn't you agree?"

Both offered single nods in response.

"I have arranged funding for you two to bring on four more agents. That will start to give you some parity with what ASAC Nichols has managed to assemble in San Diego. Quite the man in charge, wouldn't you say?" He smiled at his own joke, hoping the agents would follow suit, but expecting an inevitable response.

It was not, however, the dark-haired man slumped slightly on the padded chair who offered it. "Sir!" Scully's call was precise and intense as she leaned forward. "We appreciate all you have done for the X-Files in the past, and for the aid you have just offered us. But bringing on that many agents will take time, and, given what we know, we have a window of opportunity now that will close quickly, if we do not act." She exchanged a glance with her partner before turning back to the Senator.

Matheson held up his hand. "I appreciate your concerns, Agent Scully, in fact, I share them. I - "

The dark-haired agent found his feet. "Sir, we don't know whom we can trust. After all we have revealed, there will be plans falling into place. As Agent Scully has indicated - "

Walter Skinner blew out a breath. "Agents, would it relieve your concerns to know that it will be *I* who will be vetting the new hires?"

Mulder turned to face the bald Director, who had remained standing in the rear of Matheson's office beside a collage of schoolchildren's correspondence with the senior Senator. "Sir, you could have told us."

Skinner shook his head. "There were complications." He looked over at the diminutive pathologist, who had leaned around the padded back of the seat to make eye contact. "Not what you're thinking, Agent Scully. You two remaining on Santorini for as long as you did gave us the opportunity to identify several of *his* people who were infiltrating the Bureau. Again."

She dropped her gaze to the round rug between her seat and the Senator's desk. It had been woven with the Senate seal, a shield with thirteen stars and thirteen stripes surrounded by a gold band that, in turn, was ringed by an additional circle of blue stars on a white background. She found herself counting around the edge to calm herself, reaching forty, then searching, briefly, for the remaining ten she expected must have been incorporated somewhere. This was not how she had hoped this interview would go, but at least her partner had remained centered, watching his words in a space that could well be tapped by the very man they were all working to defeat. She offered in placation to both her superiors, "You needed to run extensive psychological profiles, didn't you?" The three from the Bureau recalled the events that had brought Tyrell Lewis Saunders to stand twin trials.

The bald Director nodded. "Exactly, Agents. I will assemble sixteen candidates, from whom you *will* be able to safely choose your four."

Mulder returned to the seat to her left before releasing a dry quip. "It looks like those offices won't stay empty for long, Scully."

One auburn eyebrow cocked, but she kept silent for a moment. Then, in a single sweeping motion, she rose to extend her hand to the Senator. "Thank you, again, Sir. This was an unexpected boon. I hope we can continue to earn your trust as we go forward." She stepped back into Matheson's outer office to collect her thoughts away from the others, ignoring the aides who looked up in surprise at her sudden appearance.

After a quick pump of the Senator's hand, Mulder walked out to join her, bending over her with a quizzical cock of a dark eyebrow, but, she shook her head as she began striding toward the door. They would speak of this later, he knew.

Walter Skinner stepped up to the Senator. "That's not how I expected that would go."

Matheson nodded. "But it went better than I had hoped. I didn't have to hold out promotions to get their attentions."

His jaw firm, the Assistant Director sent a glance back over his shoulder. "This is just the opening of the negotiations, Rich, as you well know." He left to join his agents so they could return to the FBI offices.

\--o-0-o--

Karl Strauss Brewery and Grill  
La Jolla, CA  
Wednesday, 11:59 am

Andrea Rosen waved to her former partner, who was seated under an umbrella at a round table along the boardwalk beside the koi pond and Japanese garden. The shade thrown by the broad canvas was both darker and lighter than that over the diners around them. Unlike the rest, the sectors were clashingly different primary colors: navy blue beside bright yellow beside green or red, with a black swatch anchoring them all. Nichols had called her early this morning to arrange this lunch, the location telling her it was a serious issue they needed to discuss. When the young woman behind the stand nodded her through, she trotted over the decking, dodging a waiter in black bearing a tray laden with what she knew were rich, dark stouts along the narrow walkway. The restaurant was just off a busy street, but the densely packed trees blocked the view of the parking lot and the surrounding buildings, making the location perfect for the conversation she knew they would be having. 

She slid into the seat across from the balding Montanan. "Hey."

He sipped his ale, then sent her a quick grin, barely visible under the greying mustache.

The same waiter was standing over them, so she responded to his unasked question. "Evian, please. And leave the bottle." Once they were alone, the astronomer turned back to face her former partner. "Any new hires this week you want me to chat with?" She leaned away from a shouting clutch of children harrying a brunette not much taller than her charges.

The woman, her patience with the outing clearly exhausted, was pointing at the sinuous glittering koi bobbing in the water close to the covered tables, where they waited for chunks of bread or other handouts. One of the towheaded boys extended his arm over the water. He released the weight at the end of a purple ribbon attached to a single white balloon, giggling as the mass pulled the sphere down to the surface, but, no deeper, since the helium kept it afloat. As she remembered the tantrum that had her digging in her change-purse to pay for it, the mother sighed with exasperation. The undulations of the long orange and white tails of the koi had the bulb jerking along random tracks, much to the amusement of all the children, who were now silent, fixated on it momentarily. A slight gust of wind caught the little airship, shifting it clear of the dock, then it began moving with apparent purpose, picking up speed as it traveled in a straight line until it reached the fountain in the middle of the pond.

"Kids." Nichols's gravel reclaimed her attention as he was patting his upper lip dry. "No. I've brought over the guys I trust, Ros."

She shook her head. "Nic, I didn't think you would be the least skeevy of the bunch, but I have to say, that last one looks like Mick Belker after too many years undercover."

He grinned. "Yeah, we all tease him about that, too. But, I've been wanting to get Robert inside the group since Mulder told me about this new ASAC assignment. If anyone will be able to bust open these other organizations, he will."

Her hazel eyes regarded him gently. "So, Nic, talk to me."

He sighed. "It's this Evans murder, Ros. The white-collar crimes guy, Danson, who was working the case was called back to the New York office because one of his long-term bank fraud cases was heating up. Before he left, he worked out that something's off. Whittington gave up that younger lawyer so fast it's suspicious. If we pull that thread, we'll be able to get inside that law firm we've been investigating, and those organizations Mulder and Scully were exposing. I know it, but I don't see the pieces yet."

She unfolded stiff white cloth to spread over her knees. "We've been looking at those offices for a while, thinking there was a connection. But, Nic, didn't the whole Evans thing get shut down pretty quickly by the police themselves? Isn't that what the detective who was working the Wilton case told us? Donato, right?"

Since a tall clear bottle and a chilled goblet with a slice of lime were descending before her, Nichols waited until they were alone again. "That's exactly why I'm considering it, Ros. Donato came to me a few days ago. You're right, the case is closed, worse, with Donato having been the initial suspect in Evans's murder, there's only so much he can pursue without tripping Internal Affairs. But he and his partner, Gonzales, and a few others, including their Sargent, are working off the books. They think something's up, too. Normally, we would have enough agents to help them. Thanks to the connections Mulder and Scully have with a certain Senator, we have plenty of financial resources, so we could dig deep into the whispers and feints a case like this usually entails. But, since it's not an official ask from one law enforcement agency to the Bureau, I can't step in as ASAC and set my official people loose on it." He extended both hands to her. "So, I have to go to my resident unofficial genius for help."

After a quick smile of gratitude, she leaned across the table. "Speaking of Mulder and Scully, any word on when they're coming back, Nic?"

He sobered. "Yeah, Mulder's stepfather sent me an encrypted E-mail. They're probably already on the ground in DC."

Both Rosen's dark eyebrows shot up. "Just like that? I thought Scully was in the hospital for a bit. She's not pushing herself too hard, is she?"

Nichols shook his head. "Ros, you know how those two are. Mulder would never let her get anywhere close to that, now that they're both on the same side of the Atlantic."

Rosen sighed. "Yeah, Cary's unpacked her Mom's dining room set for us. Those cherry chairs she's so careful of are just as uncomfortable as the broken wooden things we kept dragging around in that hospital in Canada. But, I don't have the heart to tell her."

He nodded. "Family heirlooms." He pushed the menu toward her. "Ros, you better order. Our waiter keeps checking us."

She turned over the plastic-sheathed pages, then, looked up. The young man had his pencil and pad ready as he crossed the space to them.

\--o-0-o--

Annapolis, MD  
Wednesday, 3:03 pm

Margaret Scully eased the station wagon onto her newly repaved driveway. It had been many more hours than she had planned since leaving her daughter's apartment in Alexandria, but Route 50 had been snarled by the inevitable summertime beach traffic. _On a Wednesday, too!_ She had passed the closed garage door of the Alberts's at the end of the street, wondering as she did so how they managed to stand the commute from here to the Pentagon and back again every day. Despite her entreaties when Dana had begun working at the Bureau, she was relieved her daughter had found an apartment so close in. To have those irregular hours with travel from one side of the country to the other at a moment's notice, then a two-hour drive at the end of it, were more than Margaret could bear to contemplate.

She collected her bag before hurrying up the stone walk to the front door. As she turned the key in the lock, she frowned. The Pomeranian was whimpering from the upstairs, not dancing in front of her as she began to step in. "Little Boy? Where are you?" The whines turned into barks accompanied by popping sounds coming from blunt claws pulling on the carpet. _How did he get locked in?_ Worse, the house was dark, the curtains drawn, not as she had left it at her departure with the early sunrises of mid-June.

"Come in and close the door, Margaret." The voice was oily with unmistakable evil, yet strangely familiar.

She reached for the switch beside the entrance. "Who's there?"

A black chuckle reached her ears. "Please, refrain for the moment. I don't like the light."

Margaret stepped back onto the landing, giving herself space to run to the car if necessary. "Who's there?" She forced a tone she had not used since disciplining four unruly children, bored and cranky during yet another cross-country move.

"I'm not surprised you don't remember me, Mrs. Scully, or, should I say, Agrippina Maior? We've only met briefly, and under the most unfortunate of circumstances."

As she peered into the darkness, she watched a thin orange flare grow, then recalled her visitor's identity with a gasp. "I don't let anybody smoke in my house, Sir."

The acrid, burning ring disappeared. "Yes, of course. My manners have become most atrocious over the years."

Margaret stalked over toward where she had seen the glow, but her toes collided with an antique embroidered footstool he had obviously moved to block her approach. "You! You had Mel killed, you monster! And what you did to Dana!"

"Monster." He snorted. "Indeed." Another mother's voice, using the same charged word, echoed in his mind.

She considered fleeing up the stairs to try to free the Pomeranian, but, with the glowering evil in her living room probably armed, she realized she would be cutting herself off from escape, should it come to that. "What did you do to my dog? To Dana's little dog? What did you do?"

"I?" He reached toward the nearest table lamp to click the lowest setting on, then waited while they both blinked at the light. "Nothing. I'm not quite what you think I am." He shook his dark head. "It is not my choice to abuse innocence so. It never was."

The brown-haired woman took a small step toward him. "How long have you been lurking in the shadows in my house?"

The old spy sighed. "Only long enough to prepare for your return. I have seen too much hurt in my long years." He rose to approach her. "There is so much I wish I could do. For all of us."

She crossed her arms. "Or, undo. I should call the police right now."

He winced as he straightened. "I genuinely wish you wouldn't do that. I'd hate to have to use this." He patted a bulge in his jacket pocket. "Again."

She pointed to the door. "Just go. Dana and Fox have already warned me about the horrors you inflict. There's no need to threaten me. I don't know anything you don't already."

He nodded. "Then, consider this your third and final warning, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa's child. Don't look into things that are better left unknown. This is a dangerous time, for them, for you, for all of humanity. There are ancient forces at work, factors your daughter of the Enlightenment and Caroline's son simply do not understand. They think they have all the answers, but they don't. There are more things in heaven and earth - "

She stalked to the entrance, then sent a narrow swath of mid-summer brilliance lancing into the darkened space. "Don't quote Shakespeare to me. Just get out of my house."

Stepping onto the porch, he looked over his shoulder. "Caroline is well? Happy with the man who loves her utterly?" The question was nearly inaudible.

Margaret had begun to close the door, but pulled it wide at the open longing in the soundless voice. "Both, no thanks to you."

He lifted a print out of his shirt pocket to hold where she could peruse the image in the high-resolution surveillance photograph, taken from a distance on the ground, not from a satellite.

In it, Margaret could make out Max, Caroline, Fox, and Dana, eating what was probably a small lunch around one of the glass tables on the deck behind Atlantis. She herself had spent happy hours in that exact spot. She checked his face, seeing an inscrutable mask, then looked down at the figures in the print again. Max had rested his arm along the back of Caroline's seat, as she had seen him do so often while staying with them. The gesture had left her saddened by the memory of quiet times with her own long-dead Captain. Fox was leaning close to her daughter. Dana had her chin tipped up at him, obviously responding to one of his endearingly playful tweaks of her serious nature.

His hand grasping the foil-wrapped box in his pocket, he regarded her soberly. "Yes, both, very much thanks to me, wife of Germanicus Julius Caesar. Remember that. Remember that I warned you. I shall not warn you again."

\--o-0-o--

Charles Scully residence  
Virginia Beach, Virginia  
Wednesday, 8:49 pm

William Danvers Scully Junior shifted on the canvas seat as Charles O'Shea Scully held out a Miller Lite for him to take. With the summer upon them, the brothers had decided to take their families on a short beach-side vacation. But, with each living on a single paycheck, neither could afford to rent a house, so the younger man had offered to host. It would be their first face-to-face visit since their Mother's return from the Mediterranean. Now, their children settled, their wives engaged in idle chit-chat to fill the time until retiring, the brothers had moved out to the deck to determine a plan of action.

Charlie sighed as he claimed the mate to Bill's tan chair. He turned his brown bottle slowly in his hands, feeling the chill in his fingers. He really didn't want to have this conversation.

A thud of thick glass sounded from the deck railing, then Bill studied the auburn curls of the younger man. "Good to see Mom's getting back to normal. I thought we'd never see our Mom again, instead of that woman who believes what Dana and her partner have told her."

Charlie looked up. "What?"

Bill reached for the beer again. "I mean, she came down here to help out when you, Val, and the kids were sick. I almost thought we would have to cancel this."

Charlie shrugged. "Mom is Mom."

Bill leaned forward. "But, is she? Is she really?" He grunted. "It was hard, having to agree with her about Dana."

The two men locked eyes, blue on blue.

The younger brother nodded. "I know. It's almost like she had been hypnotized by *his* people." He took a swig of his lager. "Going on about Dana's job, like anything a woman does outside the home matters *at* *all*." He jerked his head toward the living room. "Val and Liz are in there, being the real women, not like her."

Bill leaned back. "I assume Liz is passing on our news."

Charlie grinned. "What? Congrats, Big Bro!" He swatted his brother's shoulder playfully. "Another bun in the oven?"

The older man chuckled. "Oh, yeah." He twisted on the seat. "This one took longer than I expected. Good thing my stateside tour was extended, or we wouldn't have been successful. Now, Liz will stop going on about community college."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Val's stopped checking course listings on the computer." He shook his head. "After Dana and that Jew partner of hers rescued John-John, it took a while for her to quit making comments about 'improving' herself. Mom may have kicked her off again, explaining about how bashed up Dana was from the Courthouse explosion while we were down with the flu." He ran his hand through his curls. "It's not the way the liberal media at CNN were making it out, that Dana was some big hero, pulling people out of the rubble. I have to switch over to Fox whenever there's a story about the Alexandria Courthouse bombing. I can't stand to listen to it anymore."

Bill nodded. "Yeah, Lizzie kept pointing that out to me: Dana all covered in blood, working with the firefighters." He raised his voice to a high-pitched whine. "Look, Bill, look, your sister is so brave, isn't she? You must be so proud." He resumed his normal baritone. "Probably just got in their way, is all she did. Probably bossed them around while real men died."

Charlie crossed his arms. "Don't they understand, any of them, women have one job, one thing they need to do!"

Bill tipped the bottle back, then wiped flecks from his lip with his wrist. "Three, actually, one in her belly, one on her hip, and one crawling on the floor." He looked over. "A passel of red-haired boys, like Dana will never have, ever. After her hysterectomy, thanks to her all-important *work*, that possibility is gone, permanently." His blue eyes turned toward the water. "In a way, it's good. There are too many snotty, self-promoting women in this country these days with the Clintons running the White House. We don't need any more." He set the empty brown glass on the rail again, letting his lip curl into a snarl. "The pair of them still in the Med, 'vacationing' at taxpayer expense?"

Charlie shrugged, then rose to look out over the breaking waves. "I guess. Who can say with those two? They found *his* sister, Mom said."

Bill blinked at his younger brother. "Oh, really, *his* sister? That's what this has been all about, *his* family? *His* X-Files?" Guess that tells you where we rank." Both sets of ginger curls bobbed angrily.

Charlie closed his eyes for an instant, before reviving the subject they had been avoiding. "So, what do we do about her?" He turned to face the older man. "How do we keep our word to Mom? We both promised, after all." He had begun his questions hesitantly, dropping his voice into a whisper by the end.

Bill stood as well. "Welcome her back with a few phone calls? Keep in touch? Yeah, I know that's what we both said." He shook his head. "I don't think so. Dana has to change before we reach out to her."

Charlie sighed. "Bill, I can't be that harsh. She *is* our sister. Family is family, despite any disagreements we might have."

Bill Scully glared down at the younger man, before turning to rest both hands on the rail. "You're too forgiving, little brother. Mom will never understand. It's that simple. Dana has to change." He pointed back over his shoulder. "Otherwise, we look to our own."

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 9:12 pm

Their Ethiopian take-out dinner finished, the plates still stacked on the living room coffee table, Scully settled onto the overstuffed cushions of her tan armchair. They had silenced their cell phones and exchanged their dark suits for more comfortable clothing to have this meal and discussion. She had found a pair of black shorts in the back of her bottom dresser drawer, which she wore under a sky-blue t-shirt with the Parthenon sketched in white across the front. Mulder's black suit was hanging in her hall closet, where he had retrieved and donned the old pair of sweatpants he kept on "his" shelf there, but was still in his dress shirt, although the tie had been thrown carelessly into one stiff black shoe. He was sprawled, as much as his long body could fit, onto her green and white striped couch, so he shifted one of her throw pillows behind his shoulders to settle back.

She waited until he had wiggled himself into as much ease as he could. "So much for heading off to Massachusetts, Mulder."

He blew out a breath as he rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. I had expected changes, but not these."

She nibbled the last of the injera as she tucked her bare feet into the chair cushions. "It's not like we couldn't use the help. But, I feel like we're being railroaded here, even with Director Skinner trying to shepherd the process."

Abandoning the couch, he began circling the room. "Agreed." They exchanged small smirks. "We've been doing that a lot these past few days, you know."

She sent him a brighter smile. "Scary, isn't it?" She sobered. "But, even if we have no concerns about their abilities, talents, or loyalty, *he*'ll take advantage of the delay."

Stretching his arms up over his head, the tall agent nodded. "If it weren't getting dark right now, I'd go for a run, see what I could work out."

The auburn-haired pathologist shrugged. "I know. After all the hours cooped up in that tin can, a session on the blades would do me the world of good." She rose, then stepped over to look up at him. "Mulder, that's exactly what we should do."

His eyes twinkling, he brushed his fingers over her shoulder. "Scully, what are you saying?"

She reached over to grasp, then release, his wrist. "We should go to Massachusetts, *tonight*, Mulder." They both found themselves thinking back to another trip to New England, one he had taken on his own, while she had called repeatedly from the couch he had just vacated. "Your Father left notes on the others. We've gotten all we can get on *his* personality from the D'Amato papers and your Mother's memoirs. Perhaps we can find the evidence your Father hid, see if it gives insights into the Smoker we aren't seeing clearly yet. It might also point the way to a conviction of Krycek for his death."

Chewing his lip, he narrowed his hazel eyes at her green-blue ones. "Dad wouldn't have left anything important in the West Tisbury house. If Christina Knox..." He stepped back at the shake of her head. They could discuss the rest on the way. "We'll let Skinner know he'll be picking out those cookie-cutter J. Edgar Hoover clones all on his own."

She nodded. "I'll grab my duffel, change into something more comfortable for the trip before we run by your place." She suspected he had not unpacked.

"Not too many of those books of yours, this time, Doctor. Neither of our cars is bigger on the inside." Given the changes they had seen this day, that was the best he could find to offer. He sobered as he carried their dishes into the kitchen for a quick wash. For all that had gone right for both of them on the X-Files these past few years, she had been correct, on the plane from Athens. This wasn't going to be easy.

\--o-0-o--

Upstate New York  
Along Interstate 95  
Thursday, June 4, 1998  
4:27 am

Mulder checked his sleeping partner's face. She had rubbed his shoulder to waken him around one in the morning in New Jersey, where they had scarfed a few snacks from a vending machine, then staggered around on numb legs until they could resume driving. Less than a week ago, he had been watching her sleep in radiant Mediterranean sunlight, but, now, only the oncoming headlights of an occasional semi were bright enough to set red glints sparkling in her hair. _Take me with you when you run._ Her words from long ago appeared in his mind. _Well, Scully, here we are, barreling up a six lane interstate highway in the middle of the night, just like always._

She shifted slightly, trying to curl into the cushions under the pressure of the seat and shoulder belts, but she remained deeply asleep. She had dropped off almost too quickly, but with the late flight, the interrupted rest, the long day at the Bureau, it was hardly surprising she had. They were adjusting to being back in DC, again in their old life. In a way, he was sorry. For all the turmoil surrounding her unexpected debility, they had been given the gift of a few weeks together as two long-time friends free of meetings, trials, and the endless grind of Bureau procedures. _Be real, G-man. We ended up solving an unexplained death and exposing an international art fraud ring._ One cheek twitched as he glanced over at his partner, now settled and asleep again. If, for whatever reason, they were ever forced out of the Bureau, they could put up a shingle as private detectives to make a decent living.

The dark-haired agent turned his attention back to the road. In the quiet, he had found the freedom to consider potential approaches to the investigation into his Father's murder. He was heartened she had come to agree with his certainty that Alex Krycek had killed Bill Mulder. But, they had absolutely no tangible proof of that fact. His partner had been forced to use all her prodigious intellect in an attempt to prove him innocent of this murder, but then, the case had stopped cold. In his fevered state during the events surrounding the acquisition and loss of the MJ tape, but before their return and reinstatement in the X-Files, his Father had been quietly interred. Abel's Hill Cemetery, where, unknown to the rest of the world, his remains rested, was well-marked and often visited thanks to one of its other more recent and famous occupants.

A sigh escaped Scully's lips, so he glanced over at her again. She was stretching, extending herself like a turtle from its shell, her fingertips barely brushing the fabric of the Toyota's ceiling. Then, a long inhale, followed by a tiny cough. "Mulder?" She was blinking groggily up at him.

He cocked his head, checking the empty road before leaning toward her slightly. "Hey, Grey-eyes." He sent her a teasing lop-sided grin.

She rubbed her forehead, pushing her hair back into place. "Hey yourself, Fleet-foot." She tipped her chin up for a moment. "So, how far did we get?"

"We're in upstate New York. There's a rest stop up ahead, but it's a few miles yet, if you'd like to catch a few more Z's, Doctor."

Her head rocked back and forth on the headrest. "No, I'm up." She tapped his elbow with the backs of her fingers. "Talk to me, Mulder."

He smirked, then sobered. "We need to exhume my Dad."

Considering, she shifted upright. "Yes, we do. But, the Old Men may have switched bodies or extracted evidence that would implicate his murderer-"

"Krycek, Scully. I know it was he."

They exchanged a glance before she began hypothesizing out loud. "He had his Bureau-issued weapon on him. That means the ballistic fingerprint is on file. If we find any projectiles..." She chose her words carefully, avoiding clinician's jargon for her partner's sake.

He nodded. "We'll have proof."

"But we won't have *him*, Mulder." Her auburn eyebrows drew together as they both remembered her using a similar phrase in the heated moments before Alex Krycek escaped. "I'm sorry." She touched his elbow again. "I never expected it would take us this long to get back to your Father."

He fidgeted. "Well, we were rather occupied at the time."

Now, she grasped his wrist firmly. "Mulder, you know I'll be as thorough as possible, but, after we get the order, leave the rest to me. An autopsy like this is hard on family members."

A quick cant of dark eyebrows. "I have to know, Scully."

Her green-blue eyes locked with his hazel ones. "You will, Mulder. I'll make sure of that. After everything you've suffered, I give you my word. You will."

He turned back to the road.

She interlaced her fingers on her lap. "On another subject, Mulder -"

"After this, Scully, after I know, then I'll go to San Diego." He was surprised to find he was agitated, almost to the point of pulling off onto the dark shoulder. _Why does the thought of seeing my sister upset me so?_

But, out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was shaking her head. "What?"

"Mulder, that's not what I meant." She lifted her chin. "Do you have any idea where we should look for those secret documents of your Father's Caroline told us about? Any remaining safe deposit boxes or vaults? Anything at all?"

Infinitely grateful she had moved the conversation away from his sister _But, why?_, he grunted. "No, I don't. I thought his estate had been dispersed, either to me or put in trust for Sam." He shivered. _What's going on here?_ He'd have to discuss this with his partner. _Something's wrong._ But, the roadway was opening to the right, so he steered the Toyota toward the break they both needed.

\--o-0-o--

Once they were in motion again, Mulder picked up the conversation. "Dad never kept papers at the house. There wasn't a safe there, so far as I know."

"Any outbuildings?" She sipped some mineral water, then uncapped a second bottle for him.

After sipping, he handed it back to her. "Yeah, there were. But, I was in and out of all of them when I was living in the house. It was..." He was surprised to see his hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

Her small fingers wrapped over his for a moment before she dropped her arm in her lap. "You were out of the way. You could stay out of his sight for a few hours."

He nodded. "Yeah." Now, he shivered again.

"Mulder, there's an emergency stop up ahead. Pull off." Her head was tilted to one side, shifting, as she was, into Doctor mode. When he wordlessly followed the bend in the white line, set the gear to P, then engaged the emergency brake, her eyebrows drew together. She turned the key in the ignition to settle them into silence in the night. "Mulder?"

He had dropped his forehead on his hands, gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles were white. He could hear her unbuckling her lap belt, then her jeans sliding as she knelt on the narrow seat. "Scully, I don't understand." He looked over desperately. "It's not my Dad. It's Sam." When he spoke his sister's name, he flinched. "I've wanted to get her back since the moment she was taken. What's going on?"

She pushed his short hair off his forehead, focusing intently on his darkening eyes, while her fingers sensed the heat rising in his face. "Mulder, I don't like this. You've never had this kind of reaction to a discussion of your sister." She would ignore, for the moment, all the out-sized responses he had had over the years. "It's like..." She sighed as she paused. "It's like when I was uncovering with you my memories about the time I was gone." Her hand dropped to his shoulder. "Can you remember anything else about that night? Anything at all?"

He crossed his arms tightly, suddenly cold in the warm night air. "No, it's not even that. I just - " He shivered. "I just have this strong feeling I need to avoid seeing her, at all costs. It's almost like an order, playing in my head. Why?" Twisting behind the wheel, he turned to her, his hazel eyes broadcasting his confusion. "Why now?"

Knowing no other means of support, she slid her left arm behind his back, then circled his shoulder with the right, tucking her head under his chin. "I don't know, Mulder." He wrapped himself around her, so she settled against him, as much as the steering wheel and storage box between the seats would permit. When his breathing finally evened out and she could tell his heart was no longer racing, she released him. "Let me drive. We'll never get to Massachusetts otherwise."

He nodded, then they switched places.

\--o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue,  
University City  
San Diego, CA  
Thursday, 6:16 am

Sandra Miller looked up from her laptop as she heard an engine sputter, then cease, in her driveway. She had come outside into her garden to enjoy the sunrise and the start of a new day, but, someone was walking up to her gate. "Who's there?" After the events surrounding Tom Wilton's death, she reached for a cobble bordering the walk, just in case.

"It's me. It's James." A creak, then a blond head poked cautiously through the opening. "Hey, Sandie." He stepped inside, then began complimenting instinctively. "You look good, Little Sis. How are you today?"

The chestnut-haired woman blew out a long breath. She knew, from past years of experience, her adoptive brother wanted no answer to his question, but was here to attend his own needs. "Hello, James." Her greeting was offered hesitantly. How much money it would take to send him on his way she would learn shortly.

Salazar's throat began rumbling, then his barred tail lashed the seat of the bench.

Sandra stroked his round ginger head, attempting to soothe him as much as herself, but she began panting, which just set the little tabby on his feet. "What do you want, James?"

The lean figure had reached the ring path of the garden. Tuggles, his fan tail low to the ground, charged away to lurk behind the mounds of germander in the far quadrant as the leather-clad feet clipped over the stones. "Just to talk to you, Sands."

After rising, the professor walked reluctantly over to step inside the reach of the long arms, clad in black Armani that was beginning to fray at the cuffs. Now, she knew this was a begging trip. _You went to Harvard Law, Jimmy. You graduated at the top of your class, were recruited by all the biggest law firms in New York City. How did you go so wrong?_ She stepped back quickly, still hearing the low warning from the red tabby. "What is it, Jimmy? I thought you had made partner at the firm in Irvine?"

He shook his head. "Too many pretty people. They weren't interested in doing anything other than sucking up to the studios."

Sandra crossed her arms. "So, where are you staying?"

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, but said nothing.

She sighed. _He's living in the Mercedes, again._ "How much do you need, James?" She reached into her back pocket for her wallet.

He stared down at the woolly thyme by his feet. "Four hundred should tide me over until I get to Seattle." He lifted his chin defensively. "There's a small firm Ben started up there, and he'd like me to come work with them. Just part time for right now, but, they have some big cases going to court, so we'll see how it goes."

She rolled all her cash from between the leather. Benjamin Bigelow, James's closest friend in law school, had bailed him out almost as often as she had. "This is five hundred, Jimbo. Say hi to Ben for me." She studied his face carefully. The lines around his eyes had deepened and darkened. He was no longer the carefree man she had known, the brother who had taught her how to play baseball. After handing him the money, she threw her arms around his neck. "Take care when you drive. Don't get too distracted, okay?"

He hugged her back. "Of course. You too, Sands." A grasp of her shoulder, then he was gone.

She returned to her bench, petting Salazar, then bending down to stroke Tuggles, who had charged over to huddle against her ankles the moment the gate had closed. "We'll be okay, boys. "We'll be okay."

\--o-0-o--

Silence settled over the green space, then a slight breeze set the over-sized Napolitano basil leaves waving. A pair of goldfinches, the male decked in the lemon of summer, was industriously extracting the seeds from the blossom stalks of the one purple basil plant in the far back corner of the culinary quarter Sandra left untrimmed for them. As she relaxed, she heard a different engine advancing up her driveway. _Who is it now?_

Sandie?" The baritone was rough, whether because the speaker had just risen, or finished a late-night shift, she would shortly discover.

"Jerry!" She shifted Tuggs onto the mulch ringing the closest lavender, padded along the flagstones, then checked around her before she unlatched the opening. "Be careful."

He tipped his booted foot up straight to ease it into the opening slit. "The Church is taking his morning's constitutional around the cloister walk, I'm assuming?" Quickly stepping through, he pushed the gate shut behind him.

"Absolutely." She tossed him a lop-sided grin as she eyed the darkness on his jaw. "What brings you here? Late night?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. "Yeah. We're still looking into Evans's death, a few of us, even though the case is officially closed."

Falling in step, they began strolling toward her circular bench. "Oh?" She eyed him. "Why?"

Donato paused, then grasped the tall woman's arm. An ostrich-feather tail, flagpole-straight, was weaving through the Genoa basil not ten inches away, then, as they waited, the Turkish Van pounced onto his shoelace. "There you are, President Roosevelt." He scooped the cat, whose white fur sparkled iridescently in the morning sun, into his arms to scratch between the pointed ears and under the chin. "Bag any elephants in the bush, Brave Sir?"

Sandra smiled down at the thick-chested detective, who was landing repeated kisses on her charge's forehead. "You can have Tugs, if you would like him."

Surprised, Jerry looked up at her. "What, the Monsignor won't extend the security of the monastery to another orphan waif?"

"What do you think?" She pointed. A round ginger tabby was glaring up at them from his perch on the bench.

The black-haired detective sighed. "It takes time for cats to adjust, but they eventually do. I can understand his not wanting to share you." He took a long moment to enjoy the sight of her loose-limbed, barefoot stroll to her bench.

Sandra lifted Salazar off the keyboard of her laptop to rest him on her knees after she sat. "So, you still haven't answered my question, Jerry, why?"

He bent down until the four white paws of the Van contacted the ground, then, as the shimmering white cat walked away, waggled his up-pointed silky tail. _Pangur Ban_ he thought, not for the first time. "It just doesn't smell right, Sandie. I've contacted ASAC Nichols to see if there's something he can do. He said he'd make some unofficial inquiries, but I don't know how much help he's going to be. You see, I think it's somehow connected with your family, which makes it personal for him, too." He straightened to walk over to her. "Not the Silverbergs. I mean your birth family. The Mulders."

She hugged the tabby close. "Oh. Them. I've been to talk to Agent Nichols some more about *them*." She gazed off at the nearest lemon thyme mound. "My Mother is in Santorini, with her second husband, a Jewish attorney who worked to restore lost treasures to families displaced by the Holocaust. She might be okay to spend time with. He definitely would be. Nichols gave me their number, practically begged me to place a call out to them."

The black-haired detective bent over her. "You should, Sandie, you really should."

Sandra buried her face in Salazar's ginger fur, the chestnut waves falling into a curtain over them both. She replied without looking up. "But, my father, my birth father, was killed in his own home. There's never been an arrest for his murder, Jerry. He worked in the State Department, his son is in the FBI, supposedly some hot-shot profiler, and the case has lain, unsolved, with not even an investigation opened, for what, three years?" Her hazel eyes met his brown ones. "Can you believe that?"

With a grunt, Salazar wiggled out of her arms to stalk the Van. Tuggles had plopped onto the slate to watch a pair of scrub jays pouncing on and around the sunflower seed stalks, the flowers full and bent down heavily, at the far edge of the culinary quarter of her garden.

The black-haired detective nodded. "Yeah, I can. After reading what happened to them, to him and his partner, especially, I can. With that organiza - "

"Fah!" Both Sandra's bare soles slapped the slate before she began pacing. "Conspiracy theorists. What a load of hokum."

He blinked up at her meanderings. "Sandie! What are you saying?"

All nervous energy, she flung her arms wide. "Oh, all this insanity about the US government in cahoots with the Mafia or the Trilateral Commission or the Masons or whatever. Even little green men, probably, if you look hard enough." She continued stamping around the bench, ignoring the man and the two felines now watching her solemnly. "It's all a giant pile of bunkum, Jerry, designed to lure the gullible masses into some sideshow cooked up by the entertainment industry and a raft of loonies."

The thick-chested detective sighed. He had heard this tirade from her over the past several weekends, one her razor-sharp intellect had been refining with each repetition. But, it was easier than addressing what was really bothering him. "Why, Sandra? What would it buy them?"

"Jerry!" She snorted. "You're a cop. You know how to separate truth from falsehood! You had to learn critical thinking to be able to follow a trail of clues and suspects. What it would buy a few lonely, misguided people is the fame and recognition they think life has otherwise and unfairly denied to them."

He rubbed the back of his neck. They would be treading this path several more times, he could tell. "But, the Tuskegee experiments..."

"Are a far cry, horrible as they are, from some grand cabal to fix elections, gold prices, corporate mergers, judicial proceedings, all in the name of, what, Jerry, of what?" Her arms crossed, she was glaring down at him.

He slid off the bench. "But these others who are working with your brother, Sandie, they're scientists, too, just like you."

She spun in an angry circle, distracting him momentarily as chestnut waves flew around her. "Who, this Dana Scully? She's a forensic pathologist with an undergraduate degree in Physics. She never finished her PhD. She spends her time dissecting *alien* bodies, not performing original research."

"But, Doctor Rosen has." They both remembered the sober brunette with the racer's build, sitting in Nichols's office.

Sandra shook her head. "For a PhD, yes. But that's not what really teaches you to think, Jerry. If I compared how I thought when I was fresh out of graduate school with how I do it now, well, it's worlds apart. The other two - "

Jerry chewed his black mustache. "Other two?"

Her hazel eyes narrowed. "You didn't know? Agent Nichols told me two others have joined them: Pendrell and Phillips. They both have PhD's in Chemistry."

"So? All the better, right?"

She shrugged. "They've done some research, but only what the Bureau has permitted them in the course of their investigations. So, I could see all of them falling under some delusion, ASAC Nichols included."

Donato sank back onto the bench. "You think that's what this is? A delusion? Did you read Agent Scully's testimony presented at Saunders's trial? Did you? ASAC Nichols showed it to me. There were mounds of evidence. Mounds!"

The tall, angular woman danced angrily in front of him. "Science Fiction." Sandra spat the two words separately. "They could get twelve average citizens to believe it, of course. After all the 'documentaries' the *Learning* Channel and the *Discovery* Channel have run on 'Ancient Aliens', the gullible probably expect to see hovering saucer-shaped craft with strange markings locked in back-ups on the interstates during rush hour."

He gazed up at her. "Is this why you don't want to go back to see your blood family, Sandie? Is it? Every family has the odd-ball member with the crazy ideas. Mine certainly did." He shook his head. "It really isn't a good reason, you know."

She flopped beside him. "Yes. And, no." She twisted to face him. "I'm uncomfortable with this, to say the least, but, I have a life." She held his gaze for a long moment. "It's hard and lonely at times, but it's my very own. I have accomplishments I'm proud of, work that stands on its own, research I don't want tarnished by association with that-" She blew out a breath through her nose. "-paranormal insanity."

Tentatively, Jerry took her hand, rubbing her long, elegant fingers between his squat, thick palms. "Sandie, any family who had thought they lost a daughter, then found out she was healthy, happy, successful, intelligent, accomplished, and, if I may be entirely forward here, beautiful – " He paused to shift closer to her. "- as you are would be proud of her. You should go see them, or, at least, him."

She closed her eyes as she rested her head on the top edge of the back of the bench. "I know. I need to go talk with my NSF sponsor after the school year ends. I'll look up my loonie-tunes brother while I'm in DC then. Fair enough?" Pensive, she gazed over at him.

Luxuriating in the sight and proximity of her generous lips, he nodded. He'd have to push her to keep her promise as the time grew nearer, he knew, but, it didn't matter. He wanted a future with this intoxicating woman, but she needed closure with her family, her real family, more than she was willing to admit, to him or to anyone.

\--o-0-o--

West Tisbury Police Department  
454 State Road  
West Tisbury, MA  
Thursday, 8:37 am

After she pulled into a parking space, purposely jangling the keys as she silenced the engine, Scully patted her partner's shoulder gently. Following his display of discomfort about his sister, she had expected he would have fidgeted for hours, but he had dropped off to sleep within a mile of their stop, sinking deeply into a repose she had seen him achieve only a few times over the years. Whether the fatigue of travel and the jet lag had finally caught up with her driven partner, or it was some new torment that was about to overtake him, they would learn soon enough. Her suspicion that Mulder's reaction to his sister's name was a hypnotic command implanted in his unconscious mind occupied more of her own thoughts than the monotonous drive through the dark. They had learned she had been programmed not to speak of her own time under the Consortium's control through a recovered suggestion that his memories of his sister would have been taken. _That family. Those monsters. Was this part of that same process, or had the idea been implanted during the horror that was his youth after Samantha's disappearance?_ She would have to pursue these considerations later, since now, they were here.

She slid her palm down to his elbow to rub circles around the tip. "Mulder?" She watched him wake slowly, then look around.

"Yeah." He straightened. "I was out all that time?" He quirked a dark eyebrow. "Even on the Woods Hole Ferry?"

She nodded. "I let you sleep, Mulder. You needed it." She tipped her head forward, bringing her green-blue eyes under his hazel ones. "You ready for this? We could check into that B&B you told me about? The Hook and Whale?"

He unclipped his lap and shoulder belts. "Let's go, G-woman." He sent her a tiny grin, conveying a readiness he honestly didn't feel.

She studied him, but he was blinking expectantly, so she exited. After closing the door, she hopped up the few steps to the entrance.

He sighed, slid out, then followed her.

\--o-0-o--

Once inside, she, her FBI shield aloft, crossed to the Sergeant's desk. "Agents Scully and Mulder, FBI. We're here to investigate a suspicious death." She would wait until they were past the preliminaries to discuss the details of the case.

A blond head snapped up from his keyboard. "What?" Most of the incidents the police handled were vacationers with lost wallets, or the occasional check-in of security staff for the VIP's that seemed to take over the island in summer, not rumpled FBI agents. Tim Anderson studied both their faces, surprised at how small the woman was. But, her somber expression sent him to his feet. "Let me get the Chief." He hurried toward a glass door, where "John Howard" was painted in an arc below the words "Chief of Police." The office was freestanding in the middle of the small hall, all glass walls with Venetian blinds lowered for privacy. When he emerged, the man behind him was lean, his hair still dark and full.

She had expected a somber, aged visage. Instead, the broad grin under genial brown eyes in a sun-reddened oval face had the officers around him returning the expression as he walked, nodding, among the few desks scattered in the open bull-pen. But the sight of the tall agent stopped him, setting his smile even wider. "Fox Mulder, as I live and breathe! I wondered what had become of you!" A few leaping steps, then he was pulling the dark-haired man toward him.

Scully's eyebrows canted as her partner was tucked into a tight embrace, his back stoutly clouted, before the Chief turned to her to extend his hand. "John Howard, Ma'am."

Carefully keeping her distance, she gripped his palm firmly. "Dana Scully." She pointed her chin toward the man beside her. "We're partners at the Bureau, Sir."

He chuckled softly. "I know, Agent Scully. You don't remember me, but I remember you." He glanced over at Mulder before settling his gaze back on her. "You were at the funeral in Boston."

She nodded. "That's why we're here, Chief Howard. That's the suspicious death we are investigating."

He stepped back to extend his arm toward the glass door. "Then, we'll speak in here, Agents."

\--o-0-o--

Dana Scully had taken one of the red-cushioned seats in front of a grey metal desk, like many she had seen when visiting Ahab in his various Navy offices. Her partner was pacing in the back of the room, silent still, so she leaned forward. "Chief Howard, has there been any unusual activity around Bill Mulder's grave? Either at the time of burial or since?"

The Chief's brown eyes followed the dark-haired agent's restless motion for a few strides before meeting hers. He had never understood why two funerals, two graves, but it was just one more piece of strangeness from the Mulder family. "No, Agent Scully." A creak of steel against steel as he leaned back. "The only thing I've had to deal with in regards to any of the Mulders since then has been that explosion that leveled Bill Mulder's place, around the same time as the Chilmark residence was demolished."

Now, the dark-haired man stepped forward. "We know who's responsible for that." He looked down at his partner, who tucked her chin as she waited. They would not, especially here, reveal all they knew about his family's past.

Chief Howard studied, first, the tall agent's lined face, then, the firm set of his partner's jaw, before he locked his gaze with the hazel. "Fox, we all knew your family had troubles." He turned to the ginger-haired pathologist. "My Father was Chief of Police before me, and he'd tell us, over dinner, about the trips past their places, just to check in." The dark-haired policeman waggled his fingers toward Mulder. "Sometimes, if he was at his Dad's, our track star here would be out jogging the back roads, but if he was at his Mom's, he'd be huddled on the porch, actually doing that studying he boasted he never did when we were both in high school."

The diminutive agent let her cheek twitch.

Howard was shaking his head. "But sometimes..." He let remain unspoken the facts she knew from a walk beside the waves with Caroline.

She sighed. Her partner was withdrawing again, slipping back against the glass. They would speak soon about the damage this was doing, either at her prompting, or when a nightmare rattled it out of him. With all they had to face together, an emotional shutdown on Mulder's part was not an option.

He appeared to have come to the same conclusion. As she watched, he squared his shoulders, returned to her side in two loping steps, then leaned down over the scraped edge of the desk. "John, I'd like to request an exhumation order for my Dad."

Scully saw his long fingers trembling, even as they were balled into fists on the black surface.

Having caught the motion himself, one dark eyebrow began working upwards on Chief Howard's forehead. "We can do that, Fox. But we don't have a pathologist on staff. The few times we've needed one, we've brought one over from the mainland."

Scully rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with her partner. "I'm a forensic pathologist, Chief. The autopsy will be my responsibility."

Howard nodded. "Then let me have the paperwork drawn up. You're family, so we won't have to call Falmouth and get Judge Thugpin."

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Thursday, 2:58 pm

The black cushioned ebony chairs of the Ecclesia were all empty, save two, along the back, well away from the Aborigine's rough stone. 

The Pict had his cane resting across his knees while he considered the words of the younger man to his right. "We are many, we are one. So that is what became of the Slav." His green eyes closed. "We are too few, my friend. We cannot oppose the will of the Pure if they force this issue." His shoulders sagged. "We will have to elevate the Atrebates. While they are not full members of the Forty, they might provide enough of a counterbalance that we may, just may, be able to keep us moving forward on the path of the Enlightened." _There. The sound has gone out, and it shall be._

The ginger-haired man touched the ruby dragon on the pin holding his tie. The coiling beast, one paw upright, was set in the center of the circle surrounded by the forty wavy rays he had adopted eagerly when the Riata had presented them to him upon his induction. "We are many, we are one. We must try. Who will stand against them if not we? The Riata, of blessed memory, would be with us, no, she would be leading the charge." His pale green eyes flicked toward a silver urn, set in a freshly carved niche in the deep panels of oak. "You know it."

The older man rubbed his face. "I do, Cymru, I do. Better than you ever shall, my youngest friend." His gaze turned to the red cobble, resting on the marble Ionic column that served as a stand. "If only we had some idea of where the current Riata was, how we could reach her, to bring her to us." A long sigh punctured the silence in the Suola. "I do not trust Suebi. He lives too much in the Past, seeking to recover lost glories that were never meant to be earned."

"We are many, we are one. Then let me show you." The Aborigine had been approaching the two stealthily while they conversed, but, now, he reached a hand to the Pict, waiting while he leaned against his lion to push himself erect.

The Cymru followed along behind them as they crossed the room to stand before the face of stone. "What will this show us?" Dropping the honorific in his frustration, he frowned.

The Aborigine turned his back to both men. "Take hold of my shoulder, each of you." After they complied, he held his gnarled digits above the ochre. "Close your eyes, open your minds, see the Wide and the Deep." The long hands descended.

Silence fell across the room. Three bodies were erect, motionless. The Now fell away as, in their minds, at the speed of thought, they flew across distances, passing through centuries in mere seconds, all the while retaining the swirling currents of history they had experienced. Slowly, the three returned mentally to the Suola, where the Cymru found himself suppressing a shout.

The Aborigine lifted his hands away; three pairs of eyes popped open. "Now, you see her, as do I. We have all seen the Riata."

"Beautiful. So beautiful." The red-haired man was blinking in awe.

The Pict hooked his cane over the ebony back of one of the nearby seats. "That is the inner light you see, Cymru, not its outward form. Count yourself fortunate. Not all, even of the Forty, can see the Within." He turned to the eldest. "Thank you, my friend. You have given me hope. We are many, we are one." He reached out to grasp the forearm of the Aborigine, as the lean, grizzled man gripped his in return. Each extended an arm to the other, until they were joined in a triangle, all equals, all warriors bound into their new cause.

\--o-0-o--

Abel's Hill Cemetery  
Chilmark, MA  
Thursday, 5:17 pm

Her arms crossed, Dana Scully paced in front of Bill Mulder's grave. After checking in at the Hook and Whale, they had changed from jeans and sweats to their dark Bureau suits. Still wired, they had headed out at noon, then idled at the cemetery's gates, waiting for the caretaker's arrival to grant them admittance. Now, they were on hold again. The tiny man in what were once white coveralls had trotted off to his garage for a hose to replace a broken hydraulic line on the rusted backhoe the three of them had pushed across the lawn. If it had not been the smallest piece of construction equipment she had ever encountered, she knew it would never have fitted into the narrow, ragged rows between headstones in this historic cemetery.

Scully looked down at her partner. Normally, he would have been the one bouncing over the grass, muttering about delays and incompetence. Instead, he had collapsed on a small rise, where he appeared to be shrinking with every passing moment. She rested her hand on his shoulder, relieved when his long fingers lifted from his knee to brush hers. Given the punishments she knew Bill Mulder had administered to this gentle, sensitive man, the silence he had wrapped himself in was expected, almost normal. Compared to the new torment his sister's name seemed to now unleash, it had provided a respite for her as well. But retreat was no longer an option, for either of them.

He looked up when she called him softly. "Sorry." The tenor was rough. "Not exactly breaking records in the conversation department, am I?"

She knelt beside him. "Before he starts digging, would you like to say a few words to your Father, Mulder?'

He rubbed his face with both hands, then climbed to his feet. "Yeah, I guess."

She took a few steps away to give him this time to himself as he headed over to the gravestone.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her, then, crossed his arms before he looked down. "I found her, Dad. I found her. I know, now, it wasn't what you intended. It was supposed to be me, and I wish it had been." He bit his lip. "But, she's okay. So is Mom. She's happy." The tall agent felt a shudder run through him. _If I had said any of that to his face..._ Suddenly feeling wretchedly alone, and still, after so many years, a little afraid, he held his hand out behind him. At the slight brushing of her feet against the grass, his chin dropped to his chest. Feeling her fingers slide along and close on his palm, he turned to gaze down at her auburn hair, a few strands bending against the thick threads of his suit jacket. She had settled against his side, rubbing circles under his forearm with the thumb of her free hand.

They remained close, in silence, their hazel and green-blue eyes pointed toward the initials on the red granite, without consciously registering the information.

Then, shifting away from him slightly, Scully frowned at an engraving at the bottom, partially covered by long grass and black lichen. It was a semi-circle, with long, straight rays extending from it, all above a horizon. "Mulder?"

"Hum?" He half turned toward her, still holding her palm against his.

She canted a ginger eyebrow at him. "What was your Dad's religion, again?" She pointed at what she assumed was a setting sun.

He was frowning as well. "He was an Episcopalian, or, he was when he suited him." Releasing her fingers, he knelt. "This looks almost Zoroastrian." He ran his thumb along the incised lines, shook the digit, then began cleaning away black fungus with his pen. "Twenty rays." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Scully?"

She had been trotting toward the Toyota. He sat on his heels while she dug through her black evidence bag, which had been tucked on the carpet behind the front passenger seat. When she returned, she had two large sheets of tracing paper, a wide, flat, green drawing pencil, and a short-handled stiff-bristled brush. She knelt beside him, taking care not to damage the surface, but, with a few precise swipes, finishing the job he had started, then pulled out the longest blades of grass covering the symbol.

Shifting to crouch on the far side of the low stone so she would have the space to make a tracing of the surface without standing directly on his Father's grave, he spread the crackling paper across the polished surface. "My Dad had the headstones prepared in advance, and he talked about them, but he would never let Mom or me actually see them." He bent forward to try to catch her eye. "Do you remember this on the one in Boston?"

Without looking up, she began her methodical rocking of the wide graphite tip. "No, Mulder, I don't. But, I wasn't thinking that much about it." Now, she met his gaze. "A republic, if you can keep it." Unconsciously, one corner of her mouth tweaked as she began thinking of the intelligence and wit of the scientist and author who had spoken those famous words.

He nodded. "The rising sun on the back of Washington's chair." Content to watch her working, he slid his fingers to the edge so she could darken a corner of the paper. "My Dad wasn't interested in history, at least I don't think he was. We didn't talk about anything that really mattered, not until the end, anyway." As she sat back, shaking her wrist to relieve a cramp, they held each other's gaze, she sending what voiceless sympathy she could, he accepting it with unfathomed gratitude.

"Almost there." She bent over again.

When she was finished, he reached across the tombstone for the second sheet in the pocket of her grey jacket, spread it on the charcoaled surface, then carefully curled both into a scroll together.

They rose together before he leaned into her face. "One for the Guys?"

She nodded. "I'm sure there's a fax back at the West Tisbury police station, Mulder. You'll just have to convince them it's safe to turn theirs on." One corner of her mouth twitched as she recalled a debate she had interrupted between Byers and Langly on this very subject back on Santorini. After replacing the tools, she began sliding the roll into a short cardboard tube she took from the black bag as she heard, finally, the approach of the caretaker.

\--o-0-o--

A click, then a blue stream rose from a white cylinder. The old man narrowed his eyes at the back-hoe biting into the green. The Agents had caught the scent, were beginning the hunt. His visit to Margaret Scully with the stolen Mossad photograph had been a feint at the partners, a wide swipe at the pair, the only stratagem he could devise when 'Charlie,' completely agitated, informed him of their precipitous return. But Margaret's time with Caroline had given her back her wits, an intelligence he had assumed wrung out of her by the conformity demanded of a military wife, so the blow had gone awry. More effort in that direction was a waste of resources, which he knew he could not afford. The US arm of the Organization was in far worse shape than he had realized only a few weeks prior. It would take time and careful planning to build it back up again. Until then, they would remain vulnerable to exposure and dissolution.

A long inhale, then he let the smoke out through his nostrils, like a dragon. What had Mulder called his partner in Director Skinner's office, the space where they had thought themselves safe? _Ah, yes, Pallas._ Caroline's son had his Goddess of Wisdom, his Lady of Justice, but now, so did he. Amanda Edwards was not in Dana Scully's league, he knew, but, time, and, especially, the decades-old minefield laid out for the agents, he hoped, would level out the difference. When that happened, there would be an opportunity, finally, to recover what had been lost to a bomb in a high-rise in New York.

He began walking toward the cemetery gates, keeping a line of overgrown pines between himself and the sputtering backhoe. Could he misdirect the agents with the resources at his disposal, as he had more than two years in the past, when their renewed bond had given them the strength to rebuild from his interference through the unwitting Guiliano D'Amato? _No._ This was not a job for Luther, nor for 'Charlie.' Neither would have the presence of mind to react, should the partners sense either. Luther saw himself as the heir-apparent. But, he was not, since he was intoxicated with procedure, rather than strategy, despite the hours of careful tutelage. _'Charlie.'_ He shook his head. The younger man had potential, certainly, or he would not have kept him alive as well. He was devoted to Amanda, as if he knew how fortunate he was she had chosen him to be her Consort. But she was consuming all his thought, all his planning. Such would be a long-term disaster, if it continued.

Yet, here, his old friend Bill was serving unwittingly to protect all they had built up, over so many years, offering a two-pronged defense, when he had thought only of one. He stepped onto the sidewalk, then checked behind him. The backhoe had belched a pulse of soot into the air before falling silent. 

He concealed himself behind the pines, only, on the street side of the cemetery fence to watch. The tiny man in the coveralls was exclaiming and apologizing in his flat speech. Words about "have to pick up a replacement part on the mainland in the morning" floated across the green to the old spy, who was waiting for Caroline's son to exhibit his famous impatience in the face of an obstruction. He pressed leather down on ash that had fallen onto the concrete.

But, it was not to be. His partner had her hand on his arm, pointing to the rickety flatbed truck backing up toward them. _Pallas, indeed._ Despite the diligent efforts of Dana Scully to clear Caroline's son of his Father's murder, he himself had taken Bill Mulder's body back, before a postmortem could be performed, or any evidence removed. He had presented a substitute projectile to the busybodies of the Bureau to complete the ruse. At the time, his action had served two purposes: first, to protect his young operative; second, to honor a promise to his old friend. He had then delivered the remains to Caroline, as whole and intact as the horror of that death would have allowed. He had tried to stand by her as she wept on the unadorned coffin, the only two mourners as he was buried under the cover of darkness in this tiny cemetery, but the sight of her grief had driven him away. He had consoled himself that he was removing the temptation of her presence. But, if he were honest, he could no longer endure that Bill had stolen away the one woman he had ever loved from him, nor, that she had been Bill's, completely and without reservation. So, his old friend had taken the last of his many secrets into the cold, stony ground of the Vineyard with him. Dana Scully would retrieve it; it would eventually point, into the past, which his young associates kept telling him no longer mattered. Their astonishing ignorance pulled a sneer across his features.

The expression fading, he thought, again, of the most disappointing of his charges. He had no idea where Alex Krycek had secreted himself, nor, he realized, did he particularly care. The boy had been an irritation, forever ignoring his advice and his mentor-ship, choosing, instead, to run to the ends of the Earth with the MJ tape. A snort escaped him. As if that would protect him, should one of the Organizations around the world decide to make an example of him. He began walking away from the entrance, toward his black sedan.

His gaze fell on the square impression left in the front passenger seat as he stepped around the hood to the driver's door. Here, again, Bill's penchant for secrecy and documentation would serve as a separate distraction. He had expected the agents to remain in DC, to begin to rebuild their little band, which would have given him the time he needed to set a different plan in motion. But, they had barreled northward in the dark of night, forcing him to roust one of the Consortium's pilots from his bed to fly him to the small airport in West Tisbury. _Very well, I have planted this different set of clues, so I can wait._ Eventually the pieces would lay out in his favor on the board, then he would strike.

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter I - Arrival


	2. Many Happy Returns

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter II – Many Happy Returns 

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Colonel: The Tally-Ho.  
The Prisoner: A daily issue.   
Colonel: Morning or evening?   
The Prisoner: Daily at noon.  
Colonel: (reading) What are facts behind Town Hall. (looks up) Town Hall?   
The Prisoner: That’s right.  
Thorpe: Town Council?   
The Prisoner: Correct.  
Thorpe: Were you a member?   
The Prisoner: I could have been. It’s democratically elected, once a year.  
Colonel: Democratically?   
The Prisoner: That’s what they claim.   
Thorpe: And they’re all numbers? No names? No names at all?   
The Prisoner: Just numbers.  
Colonel: I see.   
The Prisoner: Numbers in a Village that is a complete unit of our own society.   
A place to put people who can’t be kept around. 

“Many Happy Returns”

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Abel's Hill Cemetery  
Chilmark, MA  
Thursday, June 4, 1998  
6:01 pm 

Fox Mulder ran his hand through his hair. “Well, Scully, looks like we’re spending the night at the Hook and Whale.” He turned to her. “What?” 

She had cocked her head. “Before we do, Mulder, let’s take a drive to your Mom’s old house. We have a bit of time to explore.” 

He stared down at the grass, then sighed. “Yeah. Not like Dad’s going anywhere.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist’s fingers brushed his elbow. “Mulder, if this is too much...” 

He held his arm out toward the Toyota. “After you, G-woman.”

\--o-0-o--

Chilmark, MA  
Thursday, 6:43 pm

“I expected it to still be a ruin, Mulder.” 

The partners exchanged a glance.

The tall agent had bitten down on the corner of his lip as his gaze skittered over the structures in front of them. “In a way, I’m glad it’s not.” 

The lot where Caroline’s house had once stood was occupied yet again, with a larger multi-storied Cape Cod, all new construction, the lawns green, the boards freshly white-washed. A middle-aged man in a t-shirt with paint of various colors dribbled down one shoulder, grey sweats, and work boots was trimming the yew bushes along a split-rail fence. As the Toyota pulled onto the brick driveway, he stopped, taking a moment to rub his forehead under the crown of a frayed straw hat. 

Scully slipped out first, holding up her badge while introducing herself and her partner. 

The man placed the clippers on top of the dense foliage. “Thomas Johns.” He extended his hand to each of them, before turning to the tall agent. “Your last name?” 

Dark eyebrows drew together. “Yes?” 

The straw hat now resting on the hedge, thin fingers were pulled through still-thick sun-bleached hair. “Are you a relation to the folks who lived here before?” 

Scully glanced up to check her partner’s hazel eyes. They were clear, so she waited, alert, but giving him space to address their witness as he chose. 

“I grew up here.” The words were soft, non-committal. 

Johns was chuckling. “I’ll have to tell Ella she picked the wrong day to head to Hyannis to do a bit of shopping.” He waved at the residence behind him. “She’s hooked on the history of these places. She’d have loved to have shown you around, to have gotten your memories of the house that was here.” 

Scully edged in front of her partner, brushing her arm against his elbow before she queried, “Sir, when you were building this house, did you find anything, *unusual*, when you excavated?” 

Now, the older man broke into a broad grin. “Did we ever!” 

The dark-haired man leaned over his partner’s shoulder. “Oh?” 

Johns was trotting toward the gate to the back yard. “There was a bricked-in room, down in the basement, with metal crates.” He turned to wave them through. “We’ve kept the crates, just in case someone like you came along.” He pointed toward a grey shed at the farthest corner of the wooded yard. “They were all padlocked.” The blond man chuckled again. “Ella is going to hate me, but...” A creak of springs, then the three were inside the dim space. 

Scully knelt by the neatly stacked boxes, lifting a pen-light from her pocket to aim it at one of the containers. She tapped the front of the nearest, then moved the small beam closer. There was a rising sun symbol behind the body of the lock. 

The sun-tanned man was laughing outright now. “You people from the Bureau! I see your reputations are well-earned.” 

His fists on his hips, Mulder bent over him. “There were other agents here?” 

The auburn-haired pathologist rose to walk over to the two men. “When, Sir? This may be important for an on-going investigation.” 

Johns frowned. “Oh, shortly after we found the bricked-in room. We couldn’t help but think, Ella and I, that he was too young to be a real agent of the FBI, but, he had a badge, just like yours.” 

A gleam sparked in the Hunter’s eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to remember this agent’s name, would you, Sir?” 

The older man crossed his arms. “Allen, Albert, um...” 

“Alex?” The tenor was hoarse with anticipation. 

Johns nodded. “Never heard a last name like his before.” 

The partners exchanged a glance before Scully spoke the name on both their minds. “Krycek?” 

A snap of fingers was followed by a quick grin. “Yeah, that was it.” 

Scully bobbed her head toward the crates. “Would you have a cart or a hand-truck, Sir?” 

Johns pushed the door open. “I’ll be right back.” 

When wood slapped against the frame, the agents shifted close to each other, Mulder leaning down to speak into his partner’s ear. “Scully, I never expected to find anything.” 

She tipped her head back to meet his eager gaze. “Mulder, this was too easy.” She pointed toward the crates. “We should take these, certainly, but we will have to review the contents with great care. Neither that gate nor this shed has a lock, and the trees block the view from the house. Anyone could have come in here at any time, to add or remove a box. ” 

As they heard the chattering of approaching wheels, they separated. Johns had returned, so the next hour was spent loading containers into the trunk of the Toyota until it was full. The excess was stacked into the back seat. Once the shed was emptied, Johns tucked the handcart under his arm. “Agents, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take your picture.” He waved toward the front door. “For Ella’s records.” 

Ever cautious, Scully leaned back. “Mulder, I don’t like this.” 

But, the tall agent nodded, so the man headed into the house.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West Offices  
San Diego, CA  
Thursday, 1:27 pm

Phil Nichols looked up when his office door opened, then the balding Montanan broke out in a broad grin. “Ros! What’cha got?” 

The brunette astronomer nodded a greeting as she crossed the carpet to his desk, bypassing the chairs in front of it to take a stand by his side. She was spreading out a series of documents while he watched. Once the string of pages was in order, she slid over one of his Broncos bar stools to sit precariously, one white running shoe on the carpet, the other on the lowest rail, thick enough to serve as a footrest. 

Waiting, he interlaced his fingers on his stomach. 

Settled now, she stretched her long legs out to entwine them at the ankles. “I’ve been looking over Evans’s pension, the one he claimed Donato stole from him, and there are some things here that just don’t add up.” 

He nodded, but kept silent. _That’s my star-lady!_

Standing, she tapped the first sheet on the left. “I had wondered if perhaps Evans had been working with Whittington and his firm on the side, moonlighting, or just plain taking a little under the table. If they were smart about the arrangements, they’d hide them as deposits in accounts that normally wouldn’t be examined.” 

He chewed his mustache for a moment. “Like his retirement portfolio.” 

She tossed her head as she sat again. “Exactly. So, I started working through his accounts.” She pointed to several lines on the second document. “If you look here, and here, and here, you’ll see that he has a Roth and a 401(K) in addition to his pension.” 

He huffed. “Smart, for an old guy like him.” 

She shifted on the stool. “But, Nic, that’s the problem. He’d been getting minimal raises his entire career, so far back as these records go, and he was barely covering his living expenses. He would have been depending on his policeman’s pension and Social Security for his retirement.” Now, she shifted over another of the sheets in the line. “A little over two years ago, he opened these extra retirement accounts, and started investing as much in each as the Force was paying into his pension fund based on his seniority.” 

He chuckled. “Too bad you’re lost to the Heavens each night, Ros. You’d show even Shiffeln a thing or two.” 

One dark eyebrow arched. “You mean, your Mick Belker?” She smirked as she pointed to the next to last page in the sequence. “But, here, back in May, he stops making deposits. In fact, he starts withdrawing funds, but only enough to go back to covering his living expenses.” 

Nichols nodded. “So, there was something to this accusation that his pension had been stolen.” 

The brunette astronomer stood to move the last page to the center of the desk. “But, not by any cops he knew, certainly, Donato least of all. I couldn’t trace where the pension funds were invested. That’s handled through a retirement firm under contract by the policeman’s union, and heavily diversified. But, for the Roth and 401(K), I could. He was buying stocks, and stocks only, with the money.” She pointed to a line in the middle of the page. “Further, he was buying stocks in four different companies.”

Watching her set the bar-stool, too tall for a comfortable perch, back precisely in the depressions it had made in the tan carpet under the matching table, the balding Montanan shook his head. “That’s not smart, at all.” 

She lifted the page off the desk to read the names. “Apple, Inc.” They shrugged to each other. “General Mutual Farmers Association Insurance.” She paused to lift her free hand in an ‘I-don’t-know’ gesture. “Amalgamated Tobacco Research Association.” Hazel met faded blue. “And, Whisperhill Research Laboratories.” 

After rising, he walked around the desk in his half swagger, half limp to face her. “Okay, one is no risk. Apple’s not going to lose anyone money. These others, though...” He took the sheet from her fingers, resting it beside the keyboard as he sat to type in names. Glancing over at her chuckle, he huffed. “I may not be much in the looks department, Doctor Rosen, but I learned my way around these machines back when your stars were golden because your teachers put four on each of your tests.” 

She leaned close to his back to scan the results of the search. “Nic, you old softie, you’re spoiling me. Cary gets upset with me for reading to her out of the Astronomical Journal when she has trouble falling asleep.” 

They exchanged a grin, then he tapped the screen. “ Yeah, the Insurance company’s legit. It goes back to the 1840’s.” 

She nodded. “Back to Kansas and the first farmer’s collective policies. Interesting.” 

He typed in the third name. A long list of tobacco company logos materialized on the group’s web-page. 

Rosen gasped. “Nic, look at that.” She slid her finger back and forth on the glass. “Didn’t Mulder and Scully use that name for one of the Shadows?” 

He frowned at the large white M. “Yeah, they did. Morley Man.” He shook his head. “Just because he smoked it doesn’t mean he controls the company.” More clicks of the keys rang in the room. “There’s nothing on Whisperhill Research Laboratories, outside of this extremely bare web-page with job listings. It’s not publicly traded, so he couldn’t have invested in it through the stock market.” 

She chewed her thumbnail as she peered down at the next to last sheet. _Stop that!_ After hearing Cary’s voice in her head, she curled her fingers to tuck them under her arm, then turned to her former partner. “Look, Nic, here in March, he stops investing the Roth in the other three, and puts all the money in that. If it’s not publicly traded, how did he do that?” She rapped the page with her knuckle. “I thought funds in those types of accounts were intended to not be moved around much. So, what do we have here? Is it a money laundering scheme, or is he really in on something?” 

Nichols’s faded blue eyes were sweeping over the job openings. “Ros, read some of these.” 

She frowned as she scanned the descriptions. “Nic, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this sounded like a law enforcement agency, not a research facility.” She crossed her arms. “The job description Mulder wrote for me to apply to was very similar to this.”

Nichols nodded. “They’re located on K Street, not that far from the Washington field office where Scully and Mulder are set up now. While it may be true that this is a new company spun off by downsized federal employees, there would be more of a paper trail if there were.” He settled back in his chair to check his watch. “It’s not yet quitting time back in DC, as if those two worked anything like the hours normal people do.” Enjoying the role reversal, he smiled. “We can give them a call. They can investigate.”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices / X-Files West Offices  
FBI Washington Field Office / FBI San Diego Field Office  
Washington, DC / San Diego, CA  
Thursday, 4:56 pm / Thursday, 1:56 pm

Cynthia Mulholland had her hand on the door when a buzz sounded in Mulder’s office. _Who would?_ She raced back in to grab the phone. “FBI, Washington, DC Field Office.” She broke into a giant smile as the caller’s mezzo announced her identity. 

“Cynthia, is that you?” 

“Hi, Agent, I mean, Doctor Rosen. How are you?” She took the delicious liberty of settling into her boss’s padded chair. Had she been wearing jeans, rather than a mid-thigh black sheath skirt and black heels with a line of sequins above the soles, she would have propped both feet up on the oak surface as she had seem him do, so often. 

“Oh, it’s great, Cyndie. I have three projects going on at the telescope right now. How is Calculus II treating you? You still having trouble with three-dimensional integrals?” She smiled as the balding Montanan waved at her. “Oh, Nic says hi, too.” 

Cynthia wiggled happily on the thick padding. “No, I’ve gotten A’s on every test and homework assignment. Professor Applejohn says I should be a Math major.” 

Rosen nodded. “Yeah, you should. Or any other field of research you set your sights on, you know. They all need strong math skills.” 

Cynthia chewed her lip. “Agent, um, Doctor Rosen, what can I do for you?” As much fun as it was to catch up, she had friends waiting for her. 

The triathlete unleashed a sigh. “We’re working on something here and wanted to discuss it with Mulder and Scully. Are they around?” 

“No, they aren’t. They’re in Massachusetts, Director Skinner said. They’re looking into the death of Agent Mulder’s father. You can try their cell phones if you want.”

The brunette astronomer smiled as she teased. “I hear Mulder’s chair creaking. You’re not sitting in the boss’s seat, are you, Honey?” 

Cynthia jumped up. “No, Doctor Rosen. I’ll sign off now. I need to lock up for Director Skinner, too. He’s on the Hill and won’t be back this evening, he said.” 

“Okay, Cyndie. Talk to you soon.” She set the handset back on the desk unit. 

Nichols picked it up immediately. He dialed first Mulder’s, then Scully’s cell phones, but the calls rolled to voicemail. 

He looked up at his former partner. “Hunh. They’re both out of reach. If they’re looking into his Father’s murder, then they’re probably on the Vineyard, and I don’t know what the coverage is like there.”

Rosen flipped through the printed internal directory listings for the Hoover Building before bending over the sheets at the P’s. “Then, let‘s try Pendrell. He and Phillips could at least drive by on the way home from work.”

Eleven clicks, then a pause, before the ASAC frowned. “Arthur, is that you?” Nichols straightened. “Are you okay, Son? You sound out of breath.” 

Rosen tossed her short brown curls, then smirked. 

Suddenly guessing the reason, the balding Montanan shook his head at his former partner, then fell silent for a few moments. “Okay. You two settled?” 

The brunette astronomer’s dark eyebrows were twisted on her forehead as she fought not to laugh audibly. 

Nichols explained their request, then thanked Pendrell before ending the call. He smiled up at Rosen. “Those were the days, right before the wedding.” 

Sobering at the thought of how fortunate she was that her own marriage was flourishing, while Nichols arrived home to a dark apartment each night, Rosen leaned against the desk again. “Yeah, nothing like it, is there?” 

A series of emotions toyed with the greying mustache. “They’ll check into it for us, let us know what they find out.” Nichols looked up. “This is good, Ros. Like we were still back in the basement.”

\--o-0-o--

Whisperhill Laboratories  
K Street  
Washington, DC  
Thursday, 5:23 pm

Arthur Pendrell trotted around his Hyndai to open Terry Phillips’s door, then offered her his hand to step up on the curb. 

The brunette chemist blinked up at the five-story building in front of her. “Art, this looks just like any of the lobbyists’s offices up and down the road here.” 

He peered at the entrance. “I know, Terry, but we need to check it out. With Dana and Mulder on the Vineyard, we’re the whole group right now.” He waited through the slight explosion of breath the auburn-haired pathologist’s name always elicited from his fiancee, before he pointed to the glass entrance. “We’ll be quick.” After checking up and down the sidewalk, he leaned over her to land a loud kiss by her ear. Passing DC commuters, rushing to and from the Metro and other evening appointments, ignored the couple in their dark suits completely, so the red-haired agent tucked the brunette tightly under his arm. “Then dinner.” 

She nodded against his shoulder. “Okay.” They were to the doors, but those were locked. Pendrell and Phillips each shaded their gaze with both hands to peer through the smoked glass. Terry huffed. “I don’t even see a concierge behind the front desk, Arthur. Plus, it’s dark in there, no emergency lighting, even. If the grounds weren’t so well maintained, I would think this building was deserted. That’s strange. Congress doesn’t go into its Fourth of July recess for another three weeks at least. There’s usually at least one someone still working in these offices at all hours, even then.” 

The red-haired agent shifted closer to the building directory, posted to the right of the glass double doors inside the lobby. There were white plastic letters crammed tightly on every ridge of the black lined board, so it took a moment for him to spot the only W entry. “It looks like they’re on the third floor, Terry.” 

She nodded, checking around for a phone or a speaker with a buzzer that she might use to alert anyone within that they were attempting to enter. Seeing none, she rapped sharply on the glass. When no one, not even a guard came to the door, she dropped her hand before stepping over to the red-haired agent. “Well, we tried, Arthur. Perhaps when we get back home after dinner, we can do some searching of our own.” She grasped his arm. “Art?” 

He was starting deeply into the darkness. “Hang on, Terry, I think I see something.” He walked past her, then began trotting toward the alleyway.

“Art?” She turned, then quickened her pace as she followed. 

The space between the buildings was as clean as the entrance, no trash or oil stains, or even a dandelion. When they reached the back, there was a single green dumpster in the concreted yard, and an unmarked, windowless door into the back. He twisted the knob, but it was locked. 

Phillips crouched, then began sifting through her handbag. “Hang, on, this just might do the trick.” She lifted out a set of picklocks. 

Pendrell, his palms on his knees, was bent over his brunette fiancee. “Terry, where did you get those? They look like they’ve never been used.” 

She tossed her head. “Oh, my Dad. But, don’t ask.” After digging around in her handbag again, she produced two pairs of latex gloves, before handing one up to him. “Since we’re not going to be disturbed, let’s see who uses this door.” She extracted a fingerprint kit, then a disposable camera from the bulging bag.

The red-haired agent chuckled. “Terry, you must have a whole lab in there.” He rubbed her shoulder to soften the tease, then began wiggling into the latex. 

She grinned up, before passing him the tiny black box. The pair set to their work, she dusting, he clicking away. 

Finished, she began rubbing the handle and door with a knobby cloth. “We don’t want to leave evidence we were here, should something go wrong.” Once the charcoal dust was removed, she sent one last swipe over the spot where the red-haired agent had rested his hand while he had checked for entrance. The kit and camera carefully tucked away, she lifted the picklocks off the concrete, then pumped the lever twice. After a moment’s whirring of gears, the latch shifted, granting them entrance. 

Pendrell stepped in front of her. “Terry, did you bring your weapon?” She reached underneath her jacket to lift out her SIG, then checked the magazine. After he readied his own SIG, they made their way up to the third floor by the stairs. 

After winding down three corridors, they found themselves in front of a bank of glass doors with “Whisperhill” in white block letters on the right-most. She rattled the frames, but, again, the bolts were thrown. As she reached for her picklocks, Pendrell stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “Terry, we’re well outside the law, here.” 

She drew herself up straight. “So, it was okay for the back door, but not now?” _One set of rules for men,_ ran though her head, unbidden. “Just because you thought you saw something?” 

He tapped the glass of the left door, as high up on the upper right as he could reach. There were wires running all along the inside of the frame. “I don’t know what those lead to, but even if it’s just an alarm, that’ll bring the DC police.” 

With a sigh, she set her tools away, then locked the clasp on her bag. “Okay, Art. We don’t want to give the Bureau any reason to discipline us. We don’t have a warrant, and Nichols isn’t our ASAC.” She peered through the glass. “Besides, these offices look to be as bare as the lobby downstairs is.” 

Pendrell nodded. “No trash cans, no computers, just empty desks without chairs or nameplates, even.” He reached around her shoulders. “Let’s go. We’ll speak with Director Skinner in the morning and see how we can go forward from here.” After returning to the stairs, they descended to the back door, checking that it had locked behind them before they made their way to the front of the building. Each stripped off the gloves, turning them inside out to preserve trace evidence, before the brunette agent tucked the latex back in her bag. 

Pendrell guided Phillips back to the car with his arm around her waist. They would most likely be searching after their evening repast, but he doubted it would be for anything other than a caterer who met Terry’s mother’s high requirements for her only daughter’s wedding. Or, if the brunette leaning against his shoulder could be coaxed away from dress designs and chair decorations, they could find more pleasant purposes to put their limited free time toward. He opened the door, then kissed her, languorously, before helping her settle on the passenger seat.

\--o-0-o--

Unknown to either agent, they had been watched, but not by any human eyes. Instead, a surveillance camera, painted black and nearly undetectable behind the smoked glass, had documented their arrival and departure. The recorded images were being played back on a large monitor in a dark office.

A snick, then a long draw, followed by a silent exhale. _So, the junior members of the X-Team were snooping. How fortunate I canceled the trip out west._ A creak of steel against wood was emitted as the old spy leaned back in his padded chair. Here was another avenue he could exploit to keep his enemies off-guard, presented to him like the pair of sacrificial lambs these two so obviously, yet unintentionally, were. A humorless smile creased his features momentarily, then vanished. Caroline’s son and his diligent partner would learn, the hard way, that not all allies, regardless of their expertise and intelligence, were equally useful in their conflict.

\--o-0-o--

Hook and Whale  
30 State Road  
Tisbury, MA  
Thursday, 11:14 pm

Fox Mulder twisted his shoulders against the unyielding driver’s seat. With the quantity of material they had acquired, the agents had agreed to leave the containers in the secured Toyota, guarding them in shifts. He turned to face the passenger door as he heard his partner’s precise steps approach. The padding stopped, but he waited to move until her single tap on the glass. 

He stretched to flip the lever for the lock. “Couldn’t stand the lace and daisies on that four-poster, could you, Doctor?” 

She tossed her head playfully. “I kept expecting a visit from a strange man, Ichabod.” Settling in, she waved a hand at his smirk, then sobered. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay with all this, Mulder.” 

He fiddled with the steering wheel, rubbing around the outside with his left hand. “Yeah, I think I am.” He gestured with his head to the boxes in the back. “Even if these are fakes, we may be able to get something out of them.” 

Nodding, she passed him one of the pillows she was carrying, then a blanket. “Get settled, G-man.” As she was tucking herself in, she twisted her own bolster into a ball against the window. “My turn in three.” 

“If I manage to keep my head, G-woman.”

\--o-0-o--

West Tisbury Police Department  
454 State Road  
West Tisbury, MA  
Friday, June 5, 1998  
5:47 pm

Clank. The twisted, irregular slug dropping into a metal evidence pan rang in the small morgue built as an extension to the back of the police station. Dana Scully laid down the forceps on a different steel tray and examined the steel thoroughly. This was the bullet that had extinguished Bill Mulder’s life. _He was trying to tell me something, Scully._ Even if her partner had not been fevered and drugged, if he had been able to get his father timely medical assistance, the damage would have been too severe. She could at least offer the tall man that comfort. There was nothing he could have done to save his Father’s life, once his killer had wounded him. 

She had, as she had anticipated, been required to open the cranial cavity to remove the projectile. Bill had obviously turned to face his attacker, possibly even recognized him, before being shot, most likely from several feet away. The momentum of the round had been spent penetrating the thick frontal bone, so had not exited through the parietal bone, which suggested a handgun as the murder weapon. A professional assassin would have fired from a distance with a high-powered rifle, or, if required to kill in proximity, have held the weapon close to the victim, finishing him quickly. That Mulder had heard his Father’s dying words told her that the killer probably had experience with firearms, but not the familiarity with execution of a seasoned killer. All of which pointed, she agreed with her partner, to Alex Krycek. 

That same entrance had provided an avenue for bacteria to access the blood-rich grey matter, leaving little behind. However, there had been far less deterioration of the organs in the chest and abdominal cavities, so those were resting in their own trays, waiting further examination. After closing the y-incision, she reassembled the skull, suturing what remained of the scalp around it in preparation for re-interment. The lack of powder residue on the darkened skin had meant nothing, of course. The body had been washed before being buried, even if it had not been autopsied. One more pass over the exterior, then she would report her findings to the man she knew to be pacing restlessly outside this confined, yet surprisingly well-equipped facility. _I guess money does count for something._

She reached for her small portable voice-activated tape recorder, rewinding to review her previous findings. The auburn-haired pathologist frowned before she hit the play button. She always sounded so bored on a recording. With a sigh, she depressed a large green lever, hearing, “Dana Scully, physician of record. The subject is an adult male, between 65 and 70 years of age...” She paused the playback. She would have to add the correct age after she spoke with her partner. “Subject has one injury, a fatal gunshot to the frontal bone above the zygomatic process.” She continued listening through her description of the external and internal examination of the corpse. When the sounds ceased, she pressed a red button, ready to document any final clues she might have missed. Checking the arms, legs, lifting the body to examine the back, she continued speaking into the black unit as she did so. When she turned over the right arm to check the palm, she stopped. There was a faint mark on the right wrist. The skin had discolored with the time underground, but there was a tattoo, no larger than a dime. Odd. Her partner’s father had been an educated man, a lawyer, not a Navy sailor, of an age so she hadn’t expected he would subject himself to the artist’s needle. She picked up a rectangular hand lens, pushing in a red lever for added light. One auburn brow arched under her surgical cap. Had this been a stranger, she would have exposed the corpse, hauled her grimacing partner into the exam room, then pointed it out. 

But, given whose remains were on the slab, she would make do, instead, with over-sized Polaroids, taken with the blue-bodied OneStep Autofocus SE she had spotted on the open steel shelves by the door. These she could carry out to Mulder. She tucked the recorder into the pocket of her scrubs. Before she hoisted the bulky camera to begin photographing the marks, she angled all the autopsy lights in the room onto these few inches of flesh. After taking several pictures, she threw a sheet over the body, dropped the slug into a tiny evidence bag, then carried the lot out into the waiting area. 

“Chief Howard, can you find a UV lamp at this late hour?” The policeman, seated, looked up in surprise. Mulder, used to the sight of his diminutive partner in her scrubs, turned to face her, his hands jammed in his jeans, but Howard had blanched slightly, so she held the small plastic bag toward the dark-haired Agent. “Mulder, whatever you do, don’t let this out of your sight.” 

A quick nod, then light crept into his hazel eyes. They had their proof. He reached over, grasping only the bag, careful to avoid her latex-encased fingers, since he knew she would save the gloves to check for trace evidence. They held each other’s gaze until Howard coughed. 

“Agent Scully, I’ll see what I can do. Why UV?” 

She turned to him. “There are marks on the corpse that will be more distinguishable if I have it.” The UV sensor they had used for detecting the shape-shifters was still in her evidence bag, of course, but it only *measured* wavelengths shorter than visible light, it did not emit them. 

Mulder moved closer to her. “Scully, what do you have?” He pointed to the Polaroids. 

She reversed the latex sheaths as she stripped them off, before tucking them in a separate pocket from the recorder. After sliding a small table in front of the two, she laid the now-developed images out in a row. “See these?” She pointed with her minimus finger to the first. “These look like a half-circle.” She shifted to the second. “These look like straight radial lines.” She moved to the third. “This horizontal line, see here?” She straightened. “But, I need the UV to put these all in focus on a single, high resolution image.” 

Both turned at Mulder’s sharp intake of breath, then, the partners locked eyes again. 

Howard let out a grunt as he waved his hand between them. “Agents, can you tell me what these are? What this all means?” 

Her partner remaining silent as he folded the bag with the slug inside his wallet, she turned to the round-faced man. “Actually, Chief, I was hoping you could.” She crossed her arms. “Your family has lived on this island for generations, am I correct?” 

Howard nodded. “At least back to the Revolution, Agent Scully.” 

She began pacing, stopped, released a sigh, then carefully framed her question in an attempt to avoid offense. “What can you tell me about any meeting rooms or fraternal societies of long-standing here on the Vineyard?” 

Stunned, the bright eyes darkened. “Agent Scully, I don’t know what you think happens here, but West Tisbury isn’t something out of Hawthorne or Melville.” 

She stepped in front of him. “I meant something like Skull and Bones at Yale. Any organization that might go back into the Island’s colonial or whaling past.”

Irritated by her questioning, the Chief found his feet. “I’m sure if you dig hard enough, you can come up with some group that would be what you’re looking for, Agent, but I wouldn’t know about it.” 

“John.” Mulder shifted closer, holding his hand out. “This is important. We’ve dealt with groups that are - “ 

Howard waved at the agents dismissively. “I’ll see if I can find you that lamp.” He stalked through the empty bull-pen, then out the door. 

The auburn-haired pathologist watched him go, before turning to her partner. 

The fatigue, the worry, the fear, had all fallen away. In their place was the Hunter’s gleam as he bent over her. “Scully, do you know what this means?” He held up the wallet, then jammed it deep in a back pocket. “He’s mine. That little rat bastard can finally pay.” 

She took a step back. “But, Mulder, do you remember that tattoo? It was on his right wrist.” 

He was blinking slowly, the light fading again. “No. I don’t. He liked to wear his watch on that arm with the face on the inside of his wrist, and he rarely took it off. I made a comment about how hard it must be to wind like that, once.” He stared down at the floor, his shoulders slumping. 

She reached for his elbow. “Okay.” They would discuss this later, after she was done. “I’ll go complete the autopsy and my notes.” She pulled on the morgue door, then turned back to her partner, who had begun prowling around the desks. 

As she padded over to stand in his path, he stopped to look down at her. “Scully, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” He grasped her shoulder with his right hand. “Really. Finish up. I just need to think about what this Sun symbol might mean, whether I ever saw it before.” 

Had this been times past, she would have expected this to be a prevarication, a feint to get her out of his way, but, the years of their partnership had taught them both better, so she nodded. After walking back down the hall, she pushed the swinging door open. The sight before her had her stopping short. “Mulder!” 

He was in the entrance before she turned around. The autopsy slab was bare, the lamps she had carefully assembled scattered on the concrete, the bulbs smashed and dark. “Scully, how could this happen?” His gaze fell on her watch, the face shattered, the gears crushed. He knew she treasured this last gift from her Father, so much so that she always removed it before beginning an autopsy to keep it safe. _Oh, Scully._ He collected the pieces, tucking the lot in a small autopsy bag before secreting them in his front right jeans pocket. After all she had given up for the sake of their work, this, at least, he could fix for her. 

In the faint light from the hall, she was peering into the other bays, all of which were, as she suspected, empty, but the one containing Bill Mulder’s opened coffin. “Mulder, there’s only one way in or out of this room. He can’t have walked away, and no one could have entered.” 

He was pulling on the narrow windows along the ceiling, then twisted when he heard metal wheels crunching on glass behind him. “Scully?” He turned fully to face her. 

She had rolled the cadaver cart to a spot under an acoustic ceiling panel that had one corner bent beyond the support frame, then crawled on top. Her height, for once, an advantage, she was poking the stiff mineral fiber panel without crouching. 

He splayed his long fingers on two steel corners of the wheeled table to keep it from shifting under her weight. She pushed the panel aside. The acoustic matting broke as she shoved on it. Two pieces tumbled to the floor, coating them both with grey crumbles and fibers. The faint light of the three quarters Moon fell on them through a wide hatch in the roof. A strip of the cloth she had so hastily thrown over Bill Mulder’s corpse fluttered in a slight breeze. 

She was scrambling off the cart, falling to her hands and knees on the concrete as she slipped. “Ow.” She shook her head as he reached down to help her to her feet. “Mulder, the photographs. Get the Polaroids.” 

He pushed through the door. The line of images remained, so he jammed them in the chest pocket of his polo shirt. “Whoever it was only wanted the body, Scully, they’re still here.” 

Scully was bagging the internal organs when he returned. “They won’t get these. We may be able to pull something from them back at the Bureau.” 

He bent over her. “He was taking some medicine, he said. He had stepped into the bathroom to take some pills.” 

She canted her face upward at this new information. “We’ll definitely do tissue samples, then.” The auburn-haired agent pulled the latex gloves from the pocket of her scrubs before throwing them into a small bag. ”There may be traces of skin or tissue. Excuse me.” She disappeared behind a plastic shower curtain, emerging a minute or so later in her jeans and polo shirt, carrying her scrubs in a large plastic bag. “I would never have expected it to be John, Mulder.” 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought I knew him, back in high school, Scully. I never thought he could have been anything other than the Chief’s son.” 

They were heading out the door, side by side, the bags of evidence clutched tightly, moving together to the Toyota. They each knew instinctively that attempting to track the body down would only separate them, resulting, in short order, in the loss of the tangible proofs they already possessed. Once they were inside, the auburn-haired agent turned to her partner. “Mulder, we need to swing by the Hook and Whale. We have the crates from Chilmark already, but there are notes in our rooms there we need to get to before John does.” 

A quick check of his watch, then the dark-haired agent turned over the engine. “Let’s go, Doctor. We can just make the last Ferry off the island at Vineyard Haven.” The Toyota’s tires squealed as they backed out.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
FBI Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Friday, 1:34 pm

Walter Skinner closed the next to last applicant folder, then added it to the stack on his right. _He might do._ It had been harder than he had thought, picking out the sixteen candidates for the four new agents to be added to their group. Matheson’s office had sent over resumes of young men and women who were top of their class in law, medicine, evolutionary biology, genetic engineering, astrobiology, planetary fluid dynamics, and aerodynamic engineering. He doubted any of them would accept a position with the Federal Bureau of Investigations, even if offered the highest GS level and step of salary for which they could conceivably be qualified. Further, after interviewing several, it was clear they were expecting to go into academia or research, especially now, as the understanding of the existence of extraterrestrial life was slowly permeating society. The potential hires had all commented that whole new fields of study would come into being in a few short years, so these bright young things wanted to be at the forefront. He expected to hear similar statements from the rest when he eventually spoke with them, but, in all honesty, he could not fault them. The promise lay ahead for an inventive period that could parallel the incredibly productive age during Vannevar Bush’s Neverending Frontier initiative. Propelled on by Sputnik pulsing from overhead, the United States had built itself into a scientific and engineering powerhouse. These intellectual advances had mirrored America’s military and financial leadership of the Western Hemisphere, then with the fall of the former Soviet Union, most of the world overall.

A ripple creased his cheek. They had won, but they had lost, as well. The world now knew a little of what they did, that information striking the marbled chambers of political power and the arbors of higher learning like a tsunami. The place for a fringe organization like the X-Files, neither government, nor academia, nor simple law enforcement, was more tenuous, in this time of definite proof. Yet, as long as Senator Matheson provided dedicated funding, there remained the opportunity to build a new organization that would stay abreast of the cultural changes breaking around them. 

With a huff, he picked up the final folder from the stack, the one on the bottom. As he read, he realized that, at last, he had a candidate to possibly make the grade. Further, the young man was the son of one of his old FBI mentors, William Stickle, who had taken him under his wing after leaving the Marines, but before being recruited by the Shadow government. A long sigh escaped the Assistant Director as he remembered the full head of dark hair he had grown to his shoulders back then. So, he, William Anders Stickle Junior, knew the life and ways of the Bureau; further, he had a PhD in aerospace engineering as well as a Juris Doctor. This just might work. Bill Stickle was a legislative aide to Senator Connie Mack III, Republican from Florida, no doubt as an adviser on NASA and space exploration issues. Matheson could check with his colleague, rumored to be considering retirement, so it might be possible to bring the young man on board sooner rather than later. 

The bald man stepped out of his office, then around the short wall to Cynthia Mulholland. 

Her long brown hair pulled back in a braided ponytail, she looked up from her word processor. “Director Skinner, how may I help you, Sir?” 

He took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Do you have Senator Matheson’s schedule for today?” 

She lifted a three-ring binder off the low bookshelf behind her desk. When she opened it, he saw each double-sided page was encased in a plastic sleeve. “Yes, Sir, I do.” She flipped to the current date to check the sub-committee sessions listed there. “It appears the Senator is in his office, but not scheduled for an event until five pm today, when he’s having dinner with the heads of several engineering firms from Northern Virginia.” She looked up at the silent Director towering over her seat. “Does that help?” 

“It does. Please contact the Senator’s staff and place an appointment on his schedule for 3:30 pm today. I’ll make my way to the Russell Building to speak with him then. Thank you.” 

After a sigh, the slender woman turned to the phone, using the eraser end of her yellow pencil to punch in a number she had long since memorized.

\--o-0-o--

Russell Senate Office Building  
Washington, DC  
Friday, 3:29 pm

Hand extended, the Senator bounded across the carpet. “Walt? What can I do for you?” 

The Assistant Director returned the firm clasp, then took the left seat in front of the high carved desk. “Sir, I’d like you to speak to Senator Mack about his aide, Bill Stickle, Jr. He was one of the candidates you sent over, and, so far, he’s the most likely to be interested in one of the X-Files openings.” 

The Senior Senator from Virginia leaned back in his equally ornate chair. His white eyebrows drew together. “So, none of the others were acceptable?” 

Skinner set his teeth. “They were all significantly more than qualified, Sir, so much so that they were bound for brave new worlds elsewhere. But, with Senator Mack on the fence about retirement, his aides will be asking around for jobs. We can solve two problems here, Dr. Stickle’s and our own.” 

Matheson nodded. “I’ll take a walk, Walt. Connie and I go back to law school.” He waved toward the coffee urn. “Please, help yourself. This shouldn’t take long.”

\--o-0-o--

Walter Skinner had been pacing by Matheson’s bank of windows, watching the tourists pointing as they photographed the sights of the Capitol and its surroundings. It was early in the summer, but still, the foot traffic was increasing more rapidly than he expected, or that he was used to seeing from his old office window at the Hoover Building. He heard Matheson returning. His booming, boisterous tones told the Assistant Director he was not alone.

“Now, Bill, this is the man who wanted to see you!” The Senator had his arm around Stickle’s neck as they entered. “Walt, here he is!” 

Skinner extended his hand. “Doctor Stickle?” 

The face that looked back at him was shaped like that of his father, but the eyes were different, probably those of his mother, whom Walter Skinner had never known. Like many at the Bureau, the couple has separated for stress-related reasons several years before he had met Stickle Senior. But irises were the same green he remembered, the blond curls just as in his Father’s younger days, as was the younger man’s trim physique. 

“Director Skinner.” The handshake was firm, if brief. “My Dad mentioned you to me several times. You have a job opening you would like to discuss?” 

Matheson waved them to the facing seats, before stepping toward the door. “I have a few other colleagues I would like to visit, so you two carry on.”

Both men waited until they were alone, then Walter Skinner took off his glasses. “Doctor Stickle, this is a new position. We’re expanding an old group, and with your background, you would fit in perfectly. You know the Bureau, and you have technical expertise that would be an asset.” 

The younger man clasped his hands in his lap. “Sir, Senator Matheson explained the opening to me as we walked. This is one of the X-Files jobs, correct?”

A single, nearly imperceptible, nod. 

“I’d be very interested.” The smile the blond man sent the Assistant Director was one of both anticipation and relief. “I can give notice at any time to Senator Mack, and be down at Quantico as soon as the new training sessions begin.” He reached in his pocket to retrieve a card, then held it toward Skinner. “That’s my home address and phone number. I’m an excellent marksman, Sir. Dad wouldn’t let me be anything else. So, that’ll not be a problem. ”

As the Assistant Director took the thick paper, he felt one of his burdens lifting. There would be new blood in the X-Files after all. Now, he would just have to persuade the two section heads that Stickle would be a worthy candidate to join their group. That would not be as simple.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, June 6, 1998  
6:33 am

“Hey, keep your shirt on!” Frohike could hear the pounding on the door from his bedroom, so he staggered down the hall, pushing away the wood closing off the private spaces of Byers and Langly before he tripped down the stairs. He had just managed to jam on his glasses before he reached the front entrance. 

“Fro! It’s us! Open up!” 

The three men broke out into broad grins, then Langly pulled the barrier away. “G-man! Doc!” 

Mulder and Scully were each laden down with the plastic bags and aluminum crates. The partners had driven nonstop, slowing only when caught in traffic around New York and Philadelphia. But, now, they needed to safeguard their new evidence in one of the few secure locations they had available on short notice. 

Barely coherent after the back-to-back drives, the tall agent was swaying on his feet. “We have to get these examined, soon.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist was only slightly more focused. She had half of Bill Mulder’s internal organs, her own evidence bag, as well as two of the crates. Despite the short trip up the driveway to the house, her arms were shuddering. “There are at least a dozen more in the back seat of the Toyota.” 

The Gunmen trailed out the door, returning with their own stacks. 

Byers led the way. “We’ve finally finished that safe room downstairs.” 

Langly nodded. “We know you two. We didn’t know when the pair of you would roll in, but we knew you could use a secret spot outside the Bureau.“ Blanching slightly at the grey lumpen contents, he pointed to the over-sized organ bags. “We have a rad cooler down there, too, Doc.” 

Scully had set her pair of crates on the floor to head for the stairs to the basement. “Are we really that predictable?” 

Having just reached the upper landing, Frohike caught a glimpse of what Scully was carrying in plastic, so ran past her to take the two aluminum containers she had stacked on the carpet. Mulder was working his way up the boards, running his hand along the wall. The five fell back on mumbled apologies as they passed each other on the narrow stairs while making repeated trips from the car to the basement and back again. 

When they were finished, Byers looked from one long face to the other. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, why didn’t you call? We could have met you somewhere further north with the van.” 

Mulder staggered to the hall bathroom, then collapsed on the couch after he emerged, looking marginally calmer. “No time.” 

Scully was still upright. “Sorry. The facilities.” She disappeared into the same room her partner had just vacated. 

When she stepped out, the three Gunmen exchanged worried glances before Langly moved to her side. “Doc, what are all those boxes we carried downstairs? What’s up with the rising sun symbol? What shaking with you two? We thought you were still catching rays on Santorini for a few weeks, at least.” 

The diminutive pathologist crossed over the carpet to sag onto the cushions beside her partner. “We think those may be the evidence Bill Mulder assembled on the Shadows.” 

The dark-haired man made a motion to push himself off the sofa so he could begin pacing, but fell back with a grunt. “Emphasis on *think.* As the Doctor here was happy to point out at the time, we essentially had these gifted to us.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “What information can you find on Thomas and Ella Johns of Chilmark?” 

Scully leaned forward. “They had bought the property where Caroline lived and had built a new house. When they were renovating the foundation, they found a bricked-up room with those crates. Thomas was especially helpful in turning them over to us.” 

Byers moved a ladderback chair from the kitchen to settle across from them. “But if it was bricked up, why do you think it was tampered with?” 

Now, Mulder scrambled unsteadily to his feet. “The crates had been moved to an unlocked storage shed, well away from the house.”

The auburn-haired agent rose as well. “Even though all the aluminum boxes have the same patina, markings, and type of lock, such physical changes can be easily faked and planted. Until we go through the contents, we won’t know whether the information and materials they contain are authentic.” The partners exchanged a glance, thinking of the investigation back on Santorini. “We know how easily antiquities can be forged, well enough to fool even noted experts.” 

Langly slapped the tabletop beside the computer. “Yo. Here are the Johns, and it’s not good. This is from yesterday afternoon.” He swiveled the monitor so the others could read the headline from the Martha’s Vineyard Gazette, “Prominent Chilmark renovators found dead in own home.” Beneath were photos of white-haired Thomas and Ella Johns, listed as being in their mid-seventies, both millionaires retired from the software business. 

Scully tapped the glass. “That’s not the man we met, Mulder. They must both have been killed shortly before we arrived in Chilmark.” 

He gazed back blearily. “No wonder we could make off with those crates. They’d not had the opportunity to inspect them yet.” 

They exchanged a long look before she frowned. “If we have them, they must expect we’ll surrender them. That means they’ll be coming for them, one way or the other.” 

Frohike sighed. “I suspected you were going to say that, Venerabilis Inceptor.” He turned to the basement door. “So, how many do we bring back up?” 

Mulder had settled back on the couch. “Sorry, guys, give me a few, here. Jet lag.” He was pushing his palms into his eyes to keep his head upright. 

Scully was beginning to limp as she paced around the room in an effort to revive herself after the long drives. “We had to get off the Vineyard. We were both convinced we were going to be pulled over during our Cannonball Run up State Road to Vineyard Haven and we would never have made it out of there.” 

Byers stood in front of her, arms crossed. “No. Not yet. You two, when was the last time either of you had any real food?” He snorted at the exchanged glance. “I thought so. You both need to hunker down for a bit. We can start fresh later in the morning, which, coincidentally, will be the middle of a little thing called a weekend. None of us are going anywhere until you do.” He took her by both shoulders to settle her onto the cushions by her partner, who had dropped his head to the top of the sofa back. 

Scully tried to stand, but found her own eyes drooping as well. “So, what about those half-risen Sun symbols, Guys? What did you find on those?” 

Langly grunted as he powered off the monitor. “No means no, Doc. We can go over this later. One of us will keep watch while you two catch up.”

Frohike nodded. “We have clean sheets on the guest bed, Agent Scully.” He refrained from the normal offer of his person to join her there, since she had fallen, almost instantly, deeply asleep. 

She had slumped into a ball on the seat cushions, her auburn hair spilling over her partner’s jeans, her shoulders nearly brushing his thigh, her cheek pillowed on her hands. She muttered something none of the three could quite understand, before making a motion to lever herself up off the couch, but her imbalance only succeeded in collapsing her slight frame against her partner’s hip. 

The long-haired Gunman chuckled. “They’re back. Pull out the extra blankets, guys. They’re not going anywhere for a while.” 

Mulder’s long hand, the fingers all cocked at different angles, lay supine on her shoulder, but he was otherwise as motionless as she. 

The round-faced Gunman grinned. “No, they’re not. I’ll take the first watch.” The other two returned to their rooms as he settled himself on a nearby armchair.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Saturday, 4:33 am

Jerry Donato scratched the black stubble on his chin before checking his watch. _No wonder I’m beat. It’s been too many late nights._ He looked over at his partner, Richard Gonzales, who was staring blearily at a list of addresses. But, their Sergeant, Martin Johnson, was whistling slightly off-key as he scanned listings on his laptop. 

“Sarge.” The thick-chested detective stopped, surprised to hear the gravel in his voice. “Whatever coffee you’re drinking, I think we both need some.” 

The African-American spun the laptop so they could read the screen. “It’s good to be doing some actual work, Detective, rather than trying to settle personnel disputes. See this?” He tapped the glass. “I’ve cross referenced the artists whose paintings Evans appeared to be purchasing, and they all exhibited at this same art gallery here in San Diego in the past two years.” 

Gonzales yawned. “But, he didn’t have the money to do that. We know that. So, how did his name end up on these pieces?” 

Donato stood. If he sat much longer, he’d be face down on his papers. “He was a co-owner, Rich. That doesn’t mean he needed to have a lot of money, just a little, like those conglomerates that own racehorses now.” 

Johnson huffed. “Oh, I think we’re well past wondering whether Evans was really involved, Detective. We know he wasn’t. The question is, who was?” He sent the list of artworks to the printer, then lifted away the sheets once the control panel lights stopped flashing. “I’ve tried cross referencing the attendees of the different art shows, but I’m not seeing overlap between them.” He held the papers out for Donato to scan. “Detectives, read this over, then you two go home and sleep in today.” 

Gonzales scratched his head before he stood. “Thanks. I could use some free hours before Monday.” With a wave, he stepped out of the precinct doors toward the street.

With a relaxed grin, the African-American turned to the thick-chested detective. “Why, Jerry, you look like you’ve gotten a second wind.” 

Donato shook his head. “No, Sarge, it’s just that, we shouldn’t be beating ourselves up like this. We can tap some experts if we need to.” 

The Sergeant rubbed his darkening chin. “No, I can’t go to ASAC Nichols about this, you know that. We’re working well off the books here.” 

The dark eyebrows drew together. “No, I mean Judy Seymour-Wilton. If we need someone who understands the local art scene, she’d be more than willing to take a look at those names and let us know who they are.” 

He was rewarded with a gentle grasp of his shoulder. “Good thinking, Detective.” 

Jerry took the papers to tuck them in his jacket pocket, then both men stashed their remaining documents in an unused filing cabinet drawer before they headed out. The sky was just beginning to lighten over the mountains as Johnson unlocked his car, then waved to Donato, who was already rolling past him.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 9:33 am

Awakening slowly, Fox Mulder became aware he was under a blanket, otherwise quite comfortably warm, but upright on a couch that was not his own. His neck was stiff when he tried to sit up, then he realized there was something besides thick tan acrylic holding him in place. When he focused down at the mass, a lopsided grin spread across his face at auburn curls covering a head, by his knee, that had had a battered seat cushion slipped under it. The slender shoulder moving under his palm was shifting a white cotton quilt as well. 

Pulling herself into a crouch, his partner dropped her feet, still encased in their black running shoes, on the floor beside his. “Mulder?” She was blinking at him. “I thought I had made it to the guest bedroom. Sorry. You needed to stretch out after being cramped up in that car.” 

He rubbed the kinks in his neck, twisting his torso back and forth, before resting his elbows on his knees. “No problem, Ma’am. Never slept better.” 

She sent him a chuckle, then glanced down at her arm. “It’s what ti – oh, no, my Breitling. It must still be back on the Vineyard.” Her shoulders sagged. 

He grasped her wrist momentarily before patting his jeans pocket. “No, Scully, I have it. I know a place I can get it repaired.” 

She held out her hand, waiting for him to drop the bag into it. The sight of the disjoint gears and scarred back pulled the corners of her lips downward. “Oh. That’s bad. Ahab made a special trip to Switzerland just for me.” Shards of crystal and twisted metal reflected the early light as she rotated the plastic on her palm.

Retrieving the contained fragments to tuck the lot back in his pocket, he shook his head. “No, this guy’s a regular Descartes, so he’ll be able to work miracles.” They both smiled at his unintentional juxtaposition, before Mulder checked around their space. Frohike was snoring quietly from his post in the armchair. “Fro?” Mulder reached over to tap the round-faced Gunman on the knee. “You up?” 

His glasses hanging off his left ear, Frohike yawned. “No.” He rotated his Mathey-Tissot around on his wrist to check it before letting out a groan. “You guys, this is inhuman.” He settled his wire-framed lenses in place, then grinned at the faces in front of him. 

Scully was attempting to smooth down her curls, pulling her fingers though them repeatedly, but still with the quilt over her lap. Mulder had flung the blanket on the nearest arm of the sofa before rising to pace slowly back and forth while stretching to wake up. 

“Good to have you two back from the Med.” The round-faced Gunman pushed himself off the cushions. “It’s been too quiet these past few months.”

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 9:57 am

The five were settled around the living room again. The partners were back on the sofa, showered and in clean clothes. Both had taken full advantage of multiple bathrooms in a house that did triple duty as shared residence, publication center, and electronics workshop. The Gunmen were scattered around the room on odds and ends of mismatched furniture that populated the rest of the space. 

Scully took another long sip of what the round-faced Gunman assured her was genuine Moka Java, picked up just for her. She and her partner had just traded off recapping the events of the past three and a half days since landing at Dulles. “So, that’s what had us crashing your sofa this morning. We were pretty much at the ends of our ropes. Thanks, Guys.” 

Byers swiveled to the closest monitor. “We have been searching for Sun symbols like the one associated with your Dad’s.” He tapped the screen. “It’s common throughout ancient and modern cultures, so much so that’s it’s tough to find any unique distinction among them. The only thing different about your Dad’s is the number of rays: twenty exactly. It’s thirteen on Washington’s chair, and a full circle on the Japanese flag. It’s been found on coins in Indus cultures and on Egyptian statuary, none with the twenty rays. We’ll need to do more searching, as of right now.” 

Mulder nodded. “I expected you would say that.” He turned to his partner. “So, how do you want to play this?” 

She drained the mug before setting it on the floor. “We should check in with Director Skinner, then get started on those boxes. We know we have to evaluate them carefully.” She met each of their eyes in turn. “No offense, Guys, but we may have to get some additional help, given how many there are.” She looked back to her partner. “He’s been covering for us a lot these past few months, Mulder. We owe him.” 

The dark-haired agent rose to begin pacing again, Scully watching him and waiting. Expecting them to begin another of their intense debates, the Gunmen slipped out of the room to give them privacy. Finally, Mulder settled beside her. “Yeah, I think so.” He smirked at her arched eyebrow. “Didn’t see that coming, did you, Doctor?” 

One cheek twitched. “Never stop surprising me, okay?” 

He extended his hand to her as he rose. “That’s a promise you know I can keep, G-woman.” He sent the tweak with a lop-sided grin. After informing the hovering trio, the partners headed out to the Toyota.

\--o-0-o--

Skinner residence  
Falls Church, VA  
Saturday, 10:39 am

Walter Skinner bent over the windshield of their convertible to lightly kiss Sharon’s wind-chapped lips, then laid his palm against her cheek, browned from hours of gardening. Even though he kept the early hours of his time in the Marines, she had been up before him, in the pre-dawn twilight, to pull weeds from their vegetable garden as she trimmed suckers off the tomato plants. “Enjoy the Farmer’s Market. Don’t forget the Japanese eggplant for the grill.” He waited while she backed out, then waved as she sped off. He turned to head up the walk to their front door, but looked over his shoulder as he heard another engine sputtering into silence at the curb. “Agents! What did you uncover?” He would wait until the current situation had stabilized to bring up Bill Stickle with the partners. 

Mulder had bounded around the rear of his Toyota while Scully stepped out of the passenger door. Shoulder to shoulder, they walked up to him, but the auburn-haired pathologist responded for them both. “Sir, we can prove Alex Krycek was responsible for the death of Agent Mulder’s father. We have the bullet that killed him.” 

Skinner noted the gleam in the tall man’s eyes, which was all the confirmation the Assistant Director needed. He now suspected the source of the bullet supposedly tested at the time of Bill Mulder’s untimely death. “That’s excellent news.” _The Smoker lied to me about that, too._ He checked both their faces. “But, that’s not all?” 

Mulder glanced down as his partner. “We’ve also found some materials secreted into my Mother’s former house.” 

The bald Director’s dark eyebrows drew together at the auburn-haired agent’s frown. “That’s not good news?” 

She shook her head. “We uncovered these materials too easily, Sir. It was as if we were being handed them by someone.” 

Skinner sighed. “I can imagine whom you mean, Agents. You have these still?” 

Another exchange of glances, then two nodding heads. 

The Assistant Director deduced quickly where they had been secured, at least for the past few hours. “You were wise not to bring them to the Bureau. We don’t have the facilities we need to safeguard that much material yet in the Field Offices. Agent Scully?” 

She was digging in her evidence bag on the back seat to lift out the cardboard tube that held their tracing. When she returned, she passed the tube to her partner before unrolling the sheets across Skinner’s waiting hands. “Sir, do you recognize this symbol?” She pointed to the rising Sun. “Have you seen it in the course of *other* investigations?”

Skinner narrowed his dark eyes at the rubbing. He knew what they were asking, of course. For once, he could be open with them. “No, Agents, I have not. They didn’t put much stock in mythical images or talismans like this. They were more interested in information.” His gaze shifted to the initials at the top, then he turned to the tall man. “Agent Mulder, do you have any idea how this connects with your Father, or his death?” 

Mulder shrugged. “I’m as in the dark as you are, Sir. It wasn’t like he confided in me about anything besides my own shortcomings.” He let out a snort. “My Dad was always very confident in his assessment of those.” 

The bald Director held the crackling paper out for Scully to take, then crossed his arms as he watched the pair working. She was coiling the rubbing under its cover sheet. Mulder held the cardboard down where she could slide the papers back inside. Skinner felt a deep relief suffusing him as she capped the tube. It was as if they had never left the States, or had endured a separation almost as long as that when she had been taken from her life in the Bureau. They were operating at the same level of high interdependence that had made their professional partnership a success. Since their retrieval of the D’Amato papers, they had worked tirelessly to uncover and expose one dangerous secret after another. Their efforts had culminated in the acquittal of Tyrell Lewis Saunders, at the conclusion of the trial revealing to the rest of the world the secret government that had once run both his and Tyrell’s lives. 

Once she had returned from the Toyota, she stuck out her chin. “We wanted to keep you aware of our progress, Sir. We need to go back and begin cataloging what we have.” 

A ripple creased his cheek. “I appreciate that.” With a nod, he sent them on their way. When they had pulled out of sight, he lifted his cell phone from his pocket to tap the second auto-dial button. When the call was answered, he spoke three words, then terminated the connection. “Negotiations are continuing.”

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 2:37 pm

Dana Scully lifted off her reading glasses to idly bounce the tip of one earpiece on her teeth as she thought. The aluminum crates had all been numbered, their contents carefully described in a database that Frohike and Langly were encrypting according to their latest algorithm. The partners had set themselves the task of reviewing and indexing the texts on the bound parchment pages. The Gunmen were hovering in their workshop, assembling a scanner they said would speed the secure archive they were all working toward creating. 

The crates held more than records and notebooks, although documents filled the majority of them. In the rest were masks, black velvet robes with black ermine collars, black brocade cushions, even silver flasks, all marked with either the rising sun, or a full sun with rays. Some had straight rays, some waves. But each whole disk had forty radiating from it. 

She stretched her legs, then carried the papers she had been studying to her partner. “Mulder, look at this.” With both gloved hands, she smoothed the pages on the table where he had been working. “This reads like some initiation ritual. One can even see a faint echo of Shakespeare’s seven ages of man in it.” 

His hazel eyes skimmed the handwriting, turning over several pages, before he looked up. “With a lot of similarities to Masonic ceremonies, Scully.” He pulled the document he had been studying over, then pointed with one latex-sheathed finger to the heading on the right page. “It’s much like this one, except -”

She bent to read, ‘Gradus Absoluta: Initiation of an Unwilling Member.’ There were seven steps listed in this as well, but each began and ended with cryptic symbols, some of which she recognized as astronomical or Zodiacal. She straightened, holding the black leather binder while she read through several pages, skipping past the marks, stopping when her eyes landed on the words, ‘Initiate assumes full membership, or is entombed with all honors.’ She placed the parchment-filled notebook on the surface by hers. “Wasn’t entombment a part of the Masonic initiation rituals as well?” 

He stripped off one glove to run his hand through his hair. “Yeah, but not, ‘with honors.’ The Masons saw this part of the ceremony as the end of a life outside the society. This sounds -” He stopped with a sigh. 

She nodded. “- Permanent.” Settling onto one of the tall lab chairs the Gunmen seemed to prefer, she crossed her arms. “Mulder, this doesn’t tell us anything about whether these are authentic or some fraud cooked up for us to find.” 

He began idly pushing a pen around on the work surface. “I know. That we can recognize this, and that it’s so familiar.” He shook his head. “Let’s keep going. We have to uncover something here that will be conclusive.” 

With a nod, she returned to the sagging sofa to settle in before she continued reading.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 11:33 pm

Mulder bounced over to the diminutive pathologist tucked compactly on the cushions. “Scully, check this out!” He dropped his bound document, open to the page he had been studying, on top of the one in her lap. The too-soft padding of the couch, comfortable as it was for sleeping, had generated an ache in her lower back, so she had moved to the overstuffed armchair Frohike had used in the night. 

She frowned at the image in the margin, then scanned through the preceding and following sheaves. “Hermes Trismegistus, Mulder?” Taking off her glasses as she looked up at him, she was relieved to see he was fidgeting, a broad grin threatening, in the gaze he sent down at her. A ginger brow cocked. Her partner was obviously up for a bit of verbal sparring. After all they had been through, it would feel good to go a few rounds, so she leaned back, waiting happily for his opening salvo. 

But, he offered a single nod instead. 

She set the stack on a side table, rested both feet on the floor, then drew herself erect. “Really? We know now that there was no Hermes Trismegistus.” Crossing her arms, she savored his guttural snort-growl in response. “It was just the result of misinterpretation of several late Roman texts accidentally discovered together.” 

Delighted she was up for a round of tilting, he drew himself up to his full height, his hand on his chest. “Or, is it just our choice of headgear that so repulses you?” 

“Humor, so early, G-man?” She chose to respond in kind. “You do remember who had the sword and spear, Mulder?” She tossed her head, beginning to circle him, as he so often did her. 

His hazel eyes glittering at the game, he leaned into her face. “Giordano Bruno and I are deeply offended to hear you say, that, Doctor.”

She stepped forward until they were nose to nose. “Oh? Lost in that memory palace, are you?” 

Straightening, he huffed. “Never lost. Just picking up arcane facts missed by those on the narrow Apollonian Way.” 

Suddenly worried that they were both too tired to joust for long, she offered her concession. “But how else do we know anything, Thrice Great One?” 

He bowed slightly, suspending the game, since he, too, was feeling the long hours. “Glorious Day. You finally have found your way to the Truth.” He reached for her elbow.

But, she was turning to her document. “Actually, Mulder, Hermes is mentioned in here, too.” She pointed to one paragraph with her latex-sheathed finger, waiting while he read it over. 

He straightened. “Ah, the original, not the Egyptian duplicate.” He took off his own glasses. “So, what does this mean?” He tapped his pages with the frames. “I don’t think this part is a fraud, at least not one aimed at us. Other secret societies, like the Rosicrucians, will invoke Trismegistus, but usually as one among a long list of run-together divine or semi-divine figures, not all of whom are recognizable, at least anymore.” 

Nodding, she settled back into the cushions. “Right. The only reason to have a ritual this length for a deity whose writings about him were determined by Casaubon to be frauds would be if the ceremony predated that unmasking and was kept for its, what? Symbolism? Familiarity?” 

He leaned against the worktable. “So, we’re talking late 16th, early 17th Century. That would pre-date Freemasonry, easily.” 

She rubbed her face. “So, perhaps we’ve found an authentic nugget here, Mulder.” She yawned. “That’s enough for today, I think.” She closed her document before setting it back in its crate. “There’s this thing Byers referred to as a weekend going on and we’re missing it.” 

With a grunt, he returned his to its aluminum container. “Now who’s talking about unexplained phenomena, Scully?” 

They carried the boxes back downstairs to stack them along with the rest they had already finished examining. 

As they stepped up onto the landing, she peered into the workshop. “Speaking of which, where did those three get off to, anyway?” 

As he checked his watch, he huffed. “Didn’t realize it was that late. I’ll be back.” He trotted up, then down, the stairs, but met nothing except closed doors, then made a stop in the hall bathroom. When he returned, he heard her moving around in the kitchen, so joined her there. The slightly acrid tang in the room and three paper towels crumpled on the top of the pile in the trash can told him she had been unable to refrain from cleaning the oven before they used it. But, in deference to their three hosts, the otherwise bare counter indicated she had concealed the evidence of her actions. “I’ll be back.” Grateful for the tiny quirk of her lips, he bent to lift the bag to take outside, thus completing the deception.

When he returned, the liner had been replaced, so he crossed the room to wait beside her. She was rubbing her eyes with both hands while standing beside the microwave, where clear-topped black take-out containers were rotating on the platter inside. A plastic bag with the silhouette of a cedar in green, the words ‘Lebanese Taverna’ nestled against the branches, rested, open, on the counter. He spied a green post-it flapping on the refrigerator door, then, his lop-sided grin spread at the neat handwriting he knew to be Byers’s. “Remember to eat something!” The last word was underlined three times. 

He dug into the cabinets to pull down a pair of dinner dishes. “Ah, Byers’s Trek plates. I remember when Vicky gave him these.” The one he handed her had a blue-shirted, black-haired, pointed-eared figure on it, while his showed a tall bearded man in a red uniform. The right corner of her mouth tweaked at the lean figure, his arms crossed, portrayed there. At the chime, she grabbed the plastic containers with a kitchen towel to set them on two oven mitts, brown now through overuse, before they loaded their plates with selected bits of the food. 

After they settled on either side of the Gunmen’s small table, he pointed his fork at her. “So, home after this, or another night on the couch, Doctor?” 

She dipped a piece of falafel in the dollop of tahini she had spooned onto her plate before sitting to eat. “We should stay here. It’s not right to expect the Guys to have to guard these crates on their own. We’ll need to work out long-term storage for these records on the Forty.” 

He had begun cutting open an sfeeka, but stopped to raise his gaze to hers. “The Forty? Because of the rays?” 

She nodded. “That’s all I can think when I see them. Maybe they have a secret name we haven’t learned yet. We haven’t been through but a few of the documents.” She cocked her head. 

He swallowed a mouth of lamb, redolent with pine nuts. “What?” 

Finished with the falafel, she picked up her fork to attack slices of tomato and cucumber. “Giordano is a hero for scientists and mystics both, you know.” 

Wondering how many books on this particular Renaissance philosopher had graced her bedside table, he chuckled. “What you’re saying, Scully, is that it’s possible for someone who saw the world differently to understand something as paradigm-shattering as the Copernican universe when so many thought it couldn’t be right?” 

She tipped up her head to toy with the jest. “Yes.” She leaned back to take a few sips of mineral water as she marshaled her own response. “Physics and Metaphysics weren’t clearly differentiated during the Renaissance, not always even during the Enlightenment, so, like many of the thinkers of his day, he did have his own unique approach to reality.” She set the clear bottle down on the plastic laminate tabletop. “It made him a real pariah among the educated classes. He bounced around from university to university, back and forth across the English Channel. But he worked out so much that no one had thought about at the time.” She pointed a now-speared tomato slice at him. “Like a certain Federal Agent I know.” When she saw him fidgeting happily, she knew she had struck home. 

He leaned over the table, conceding the field. “Such flattery, Doctor.” 

She sobered. “As long as you don’t share his fate, G-man. He was executed basically because his ideas didn’t conform to the expectations of the Church, or society.” 

“Right.” He studied his now-empty plate for a moment, before reaching for a jibneh. 

They let silence fall over them while they finished their meal, then cleaned up. 

As they made their way down the hall to the guest bedroom door, she turned her gaze up to him. “Unless you’d rather use it, and I take the sofa?” 

He considered sending back another tease, but he was feeling the long hours still, so he simply shook his head. 

Since he was blinking silently, watching her, she patted his elbow. “Okay, wake me in a few hours and I’ll take over for you.” She closed the bedroom door after she entered. 

He rested one long hand on the painted wood barrier for a few moments, then turned back to the living room. That deep ache in his shoulders was working down his spine, convincing him some extended rest was in order. It would be a few more days before they were adjusted to the pace of the life they were enmeshed in. As he pulled the thick white cover up over him, he briefly considered checking out Frohike’s new stash, locked in its own basement cabinet. The round-faced Gunman had offered up its location when they had found themselves alone together during one cycle down and up the stairs to grow the stacks of aluminum containers. But, his friend had, over the years, acquired a collection that featured mostly red-heads, while his preferences ran to brunettes or oriental women. As he considered, his own eyelids were drooping, rendering any further movement completely unnecessary. Within minutes, he, too, was asleep.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, June 7, 1998  
8:53 am

“Doc?” Langly’s faint tapping had Dana Scully rolling onto her back. “Doc, you okay?” 

She blinked at the bright light streaming in through the windows. It seemed she had just spread a towel on the pillows and lain down, after taking a soak in the claw-footed tub Vicky had somehow managed to get set up in the adjoining bathroom. “Langly?” She rolled out of the enfolding down comforter to pull open the door. 

The long-haired Gunman’s knuckles whooshed through the now-empty air. “Hey.” He took a step back. “You and the G-man must have made a late night of it.” He waved in the direction of the living area. 

As she stepped out of the bedroom, Scully hugged herself, suddenly cold in her grey shorts and a t-shirt displaying a black bear striding up a red slope on a gold background. “Mulder?” She crossed the carpet to rub his quilt-swathed shoulder. 

A deep breath, then he was blinking up at her. “Hey.” 

She patted the quilt where it wrapped his ribs. “Hard to come back from those trips through the Cosmos, I know, but we non-amalgamated thinkers require your presence.” 

Frowning quizzically at the comment, Frohike had joined them. “Dana?” He held out one steaming mug for her to take. He set the other down on the side-table while the tall agent, bare-chested and sockless, but still in his jeans, stretched, then sat up. 

Byers joined them. “Agents, now that you’re a little bit back on your feet, there’s something we need to discuss.” 

Mulder shifted out of the white wraps. “In a minute, guys.” He headed for the hall bathroom. 

Scully settled on the still-warm cushions. “We know we can’t depend on you keeping these documents here in the long-term. It’s not right that you should be endangered on our behalf.” 

The dark-haired agent emerged, then, clucked at his partner until she pushed the quilt out from beneath her hip so he could smooth it back over his legs while he sampled the coffee. 

She excused herself with a nod. 

After a couple of sips, he looked up at the three. “What?” 

The bearded Gunman shook his head, but remained silent, waiting. When the auburn-haired pathologist stepped back into the living room, he turned to face her. “Agent Scully, your Mother came to see us Wednesday evening.” 

She drew herself upright as she queried, “What? Is she okay? Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” 

Mulder found his feet. “Guys? What happened?” 

Frohike crossed his arms. “The Smoker paid her a visit. But - ” 

The partners were now in motion, Scully headed for the guest bedroom as Mulder reached for his polo shirt and shoes. 

“Guys! Guys!” The round-faced Gunman was waiving his arms. “She’s okay! Just listen!” 

The agents turned back to converge on him, Mulder straightening the grey knit over his torso as he approached. 

Frohike adjusted his glasses before he continued. “She’s okay. He wasn’t there to harm her. It’s like he was trying to mess with her head.” 

Hazel met green-blue as Mulder snorted. “He’s good at that.” He dove for his cell phone, resting on the side-table by the cooling coffee. After four rings, Margaret’s answering machine kicked in. He frowned as he left a message imploring her to return the call, then rounded on the bearded Gunman. “If she’s okay, then, why isn’t she answering?” 

“Because she’s at Mass, Mulder.” The diminutive agent sighed from behind him. “It’s probably the safest thing she could do: go be in a large crowd of people.” 

The three were nodding, before Langly explained for them all. “She wanted to get a line through to the Med, G-man. She wanted to talk to Mr. and Mrs. L. about him, but Mrs. L. needed us to encrypt this end of the conversation. That’s why she was here. She said he had a photograph of the four of you at Atlantis, eating out on the back deck. She said he threatened your lives and warned her to stay out of it. Mr. and Mrs. L. wanted her to come back to Santorini, but she didn’t want to leave you, Doc, or your brothers and their families.” 

“Then, she should go.” Mulder stepped close to his partner. “We need to go talk to her, make her see it’s not safe here.” 

Scully shook her head. “No.” 

The tall agent bent into her face. “Scully, what do you mean?” 

She took a step back. “I mean, Mulder, we need a plan. We can’t just react. It’s exactly what he’s hoping we’ll do, run off half-cocked without thinking things through first.” She turned to the three Gunmen. “Guys, thanks for telling us, but, -”

Frohike stepped forward. “Agents, you should know before we head out, we set Mrs. Scully up with a hard-wired encryption unit, so she won’t have to keep driving from Annapolis to DC and back again. It’s not foolproof, but it’ll resist most attacks, at least for a few weeks. We’ll drop by to change the firmware then, try to keep ahead of the surveillance that way.” 

She smiled at the round-faced Gunman, who beamed back. “Thanks, Frohike, and you two as well.” She met their eyes in turn. “I haven’t known how to begin to help my Mom with all this.” 

Frohike pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “There’s more Java. Enjoy. We have to go pick up some more electronic supplies for that home-brew scanner we’re working on. Microcenter can get packed on Sundays since Arlington Electronics folded.” The three headed out the door. 

Once they were alone, Mulder took hold of both of Scully’s shoulders. “She should go back to Santorini. You, no, *we* have to convince her. Mom would agree.” 

“But, she’s not safe, even there, Mulder.” She settled into the armchair, curling her feet up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “If the Shadows have them under long-range surveillance like that, then not even Mossad can protect them.” 

Mulder knelt by the side of the padded chair. “We can put her in witness protection. Skinner would arrange that for us.” He leaned over the thick burgundy-colored cushion. “He knows the stakes here.” 

She shifted, resting both bare feet on the floor. “I know he does. But, at what price, Mulder?” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, Scully?” 

She stood to head into the kitchen with her mug, he right on her heels. “What I mean is, what will be extracted from us if we go to the Bureau about this?” She reached for the giant bottle of aqua dish-washing liquid by the sink, then squeezed a few drops in the cup. Her slight nose wrinkled at the grey cloth draped over the faucet, so she tore a paper towel off the roll standing by the coffeemaker to use to scrub. After resting the now-clean mug in the dish rack, she looked up. “We’re already being pushed to take on green agents not of our choosing. I want to work with him, I do, but I really wonder what exactly is Matheson’s agenda in all this.” They were walking side-by-side back to the living room now, so she waved toward the basement when they passed the landing on the way to the sofa. “We have these probably planted documents, these new Agents, now my Mom. And, when are we going to get you settled so you can go out to San Diego to finally meet Sam?” 

As he shuddered, she reached up to push the short brown hairs off his forehead. He grasped both her shoulders to control the nausea he felt. “Sam’s the least of our concerns, Scully.“ He was shivering again. “Scully?” He sagged to his knees, then felt his partner’s breath on his ear. 

“Mulder, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She knelt in front of him. “We need to get to the bottom of this, too.” 

But he was folding into a ball, still shaking. 

Scully guided his head onto her lap. After a moment’s thought, she pulled down the quilt to throw over him before she hunched over his back, trying to bolster him against this new terror that had hidden inside him through so many dark years. The physical contact they both found reassuring was normally brief, but, for this, she would hold him tightly for as long as he needed. After his unceasingly attentive care during her periods of recuperation in Athens and on Santorini, she owed him that, as well as for all the times over the years when he had kept her out of harm, or helped her recover from it.

\--o-0-o--

Wilton Residence  
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla  
San Diego, California  
Sunday, 11:43 am

Judy Seymour-Wilton smiled as she leaned into the window to check who had knocked on her front door. “Jerry.” She embraced him, then stepped back to allow him to enter. “How did you know Sandra was here?” 

Jerry Donato let out a huff. “Actually, I didn’t.” After sleeping most of Saturday, he was beginning to feel human again. 

Judy, who had been walking ahead of him toward the kitchen, looked over her shoulder. “Oh, is there some problem, Detective?” 

He shook his head. “Not at all, I came to take advantage of your artistic expertise, Judy, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

She stopped to face him, her blue eyes darkening. “Detective, what do you need?” 

The pair turned when the door from the back yard into the kitchen opened. Sandra Miller, dressed in her khaki shorts and a yellow polo shirt, was holding a flat of marigolds as she stepped in over the threshold. She began speaking without looking up. “Judy, I won’t be able to set these in the ground today. I still have those final homeworks to grade. Just moisten the soil so they’ll keep until tomorrow.” Finally raising her eyes from the plants, she stopped. “Jerry? What brings you here?” 

The black-haired man was grinning. The tall, slender brunette had dirt on her knees, her chin, all over her hands. He suspected, if she turned around, he would see that the seat of her khakis was dark brown as well. “So, Professor, one garden isn’t enough for you?” 

Sandra canted a dark eyebrow. “I was asked to.” Looking around until she spotted a cardboard box that Judy had used to bring in bottled water, she tried pointing with her elbow. 

After grabbing the container, the blonde professor held it out so Sandra could set the flat inside, then the chestnut-haired woman stepped back into the kitchen to wash. When she returned, Judy and Jerry were settled on the sofa in her living room, where there was a newspaper spread out on the padded green armchair seat. With a growl followed by a huff, Sandra dropped onto it. “Guys, I’m not that bad, am I?” 

Judy Seymour-Wilton wrinkled her nose at the black-haired detective, whose dark eyes never left the brunette’s face. “It’s okay, Sandra, we love you anyway.” She turned to the Detective. “So, what did you want to ask me about, Jerry?” 

He extended the sheets to her. “We’re looking into Evans’s death, and he was, apparently, buying art from the Blackbird Galleries, from artists who had exhibited at specific shows there. Those are the lists of attendees, but we couldn’t find a pattern. We were wondering if you could tell us anything, Doctor Seymour-Wilton.” 

Judy looked from one to the other, then settled back to study the names. 

As she read, Sandra leaned forward to stand. “Jerry, you’re still working that? How many of you are still investigating on your own time?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, Gonzales and Johnson and I are. It’s not right, Sandie. I think someone was taking advantage of Mike, and while he and I could never work together, I don’t want to think his killer would get away with it.” 

Sandra began tracking a path around the living room. “It was too facile, Whittington producing evidence on Toloso like that, I agree.” 

“Hah!” Judy spread the papers out, then, lifting a pen from her pocket, began bracketing names. When she was finished, she gestured them both over to her side. As Sandra tried to settle on her right, Jerry cleared his throat while pointing at the newspapers. With a sigh, the chestnut-haired professor shifted them over so she could sit on the white brocade. “See here, Sandie-” She waited while the lanky woman leaned close. “-these two, then three, then this one?” 

Donato’s dark eyes sharpened. “They’re connected?” 

Judy nodded. “They’re all buyers for the Osaka Collective. I’ve seen them all at the studios over the past few months, dropping by several of my friends to purchase paintings or sculptures for Chinese and Japanese customers.” 

Jerry chewed his mustache before turning to the two women. “So, what do you know about the collective? Have they been on the San Diego scene long?” 

Judy rose to pad over into the study. As they waited, Jerry and Sandra could hear the laser printer’s gears whirring. The blonde poked her head back into the hall. “Hang tight, you two. This will take a few minutes to come out.” 

The black-haired detective shifted to look over at the lanky brunette. He plucked a twig from a strand of her curls hanging free of the green rubber band she was using to hold her long hair back. “Sandra, sorry I haven’t stopped by since Wednesday.” 

She shook her head, then tried stilling all the chestnut waves with the band. “Jerry, that’s okay. It’s been crazy with this being the end of the semester, and you doing double-duty like you are. But-” She frowned as the rubber snapped, freeing the curls all over again. She tried coiling her hair into a spiral to hold it tightly in place against her neck, then, realizing the futility of her actions, dropped her hands to her lap. 

No longer able to contain himself, Donato reached over to straighten, then loosen the twisted strands. “No, Sandie, you need to talk, and I’ve not been there.” 

She crossed her arms. “Jerry, if you need help with Evans’s death, I’m here. Once exams finish, I’ll have some free time.” She looked over at him, the hazel both focused and pleading. “I...” She studied her knees, an uneven line of grey running across each. “I’d like that.” She finished without looking up at him. 

The thick-chested detective felt a lump in his throat, as well as a sudden desire to tuck her under his arm, but settled for simple agreement. “Okay, sure. I’d like that, too.” 

Judy had been watching from the doorway, both delighted for her chestnut-haired friend and saddened that she would be sharing her with this small, intense man. Since Tom’s death, she and Sandra had spent much of their free time together, still grieving for their joint loss. But, it might be time for them all to start moving on with their lives. She cleared her throat, bringing the gaze of the pair on the sofa back to her. “Okay, this is everything I have on Osaka.” She smiled at they leaned away from each other so she could slide between them. Perhaps the three of them could work this out after all.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, June 7, 1998  
8:53 am

Unaware of how much time had passed, Mulder shifted against enfolding warmth. He felt tranquil, almost as if he were floating on a lazy summer afternoon, alone in his kayak on the Sound. But, the smells were not the tang of salt air or the faint scents of beach-side grills and crab pots. Instead, he could detect overheated wool, dust, mixed with the unique aroma of his partner, slightly herbal, but earthy, as if they had been too long on a stakeout. The light he saw when he opened his eyes was brown, not the cobalt and turquoise of Bay water under the azure of the sky. He could feel a small palm siding, over and over, from his shoulder down to his hip. Finally, he sat up, blinking at Scully. 

She had curled her hand around his elbow, one auburn eyebrow cocked. “Mulder?” 

He nodded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to lose it on you. “ 

They guided each other to their feet, the quilt falling to the floor. 

“No problem, especially after the past few weeks.” She left her hand on his back as he collected his mug to walk into the kitchen. She refilled his, then settled him at the table while she began searching through the cabinets. “Let me try to put together some breakfast for you.”

He had shifted in his seat to watch her frown at the boxes and packages. “No, it’s the Guys, Scully, they won’t have healthy stuff. You know that.” 

With a nod, she turned back to him. “Then, we’ll just talk.” She patted his shoulder as she walked around the table to sit and face him. “Still no new memories? Nothing?” 

A long sigh. “No.” His fingers brushed the back of her outstretched hand. “Thanks.” After draining the mug, he leaned back. “So, your Mom?” 

She cocked her head. “If Skinner’s our best option, I’ll take it. But, it’s a conversation I’d need to have with my brothers as well. It affects my whole family.” She turned over his wrist to check his watch. “Mom won’t be back from Mass for an hour or so, yet, and we’ll discuss it then.” She leaned forward. “These containers. How do we handle those documents? Scan them and arrange with Max for another Swiss vault?” 

He began rolling the empty mug between his palms. “Yeah, that’d at least get them off the Guys’s plates. But, are they worth the trouble?” 

One auburn eyebrow arched. “We won’t know until we finish reading, will we?”

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Sunday 11:59 am

The Pict carried a plain ebony box, the rising sun with twenty straight rays carved and embossed in silver into the lid, to a new niche on the Wall of Memory, reaching down slowly to set it in its alcove. “Welcome home, Atrebates.” He regretted the need to have sent the Quaestores Parricidii to tear the remains away from the sorrowing Son and his able partner, dedicated law enforcement professionals both. But, they could, finally, retire their debt to this one of their own, so long trapped in a cold grave, far from their fraternal care. 

The Cymru, by his side, lit two long white tapers, waiting in stands mounted halfway down the row of niches. “Fallen Brother, rest with your true family, here with those past and those present, for eternity. We are many, we are one.” 

“We are many, we are one.” The assembled voices, through long practice, intoned in unison. 

The Helvetii stood, then began carefully walking, clutching the bear’s head on her cane, to the dais on which the Riata had lain. The Cymru moved to her side to help her up the three cedar steps. Turning to the Forty, seated on their black-cushioned chairs in the Ekklesia, she took a deep breath. “We are many, we are one.” She waited through their response as she opened a laptop set on the lectern. “We honor the passage of Time. But, we must replenish our numbers.” Switching a hidden toggle, a white screen scrolled down from the ceiling, then four images appeared, directed to the wall by a projector mounted above her head. She turned to point to each. “These are our candidates for the Slav.” She described their accomplishments, the academic positions they held, the policies they directed into being, the national leaders they advised. “We have selected two according to the ways of the Ancients.” Here she bowed to the Aborigine. “And two according to the ways of the new.” She nodded to the Suebi, whose pale brows were drawn together. 

The white-haired man climbed to his feet. “There is a fifth.” 

She glared at him until he stuttered out their incantation. “No, Suebi, you know this is a distaff seat.” She waved at the images of the women behind her. “We will be honored by any of these joining us. We would be elevated by all of them. Your candidate, despite his youth and his heritage, does not qualify. We can use his talents to take the place of the Atrebates so recently returned to us.” She crossed her arms, the lengthened black sleeves binding on her wrists. “We are many, we are one.” 

But Suebi gripped the ebony of the top rail of the Mandarin’s chair in front of him. “If we truly followed the Ancient ways, he would be the only one we would consider.” 

The Aborigine called from the last row. “We are many, we are one. Suebi, I have seen your candidate, know what resides in the Within, not just the shell and the Without. The darkness in his heart disqualifies him, regardless of heritage. One such as he would tear us apart, when we must stand united. Let this unnecessary conflict cease. We have our Four.” He was walking, in his rolling, even gait, as he spoke, up the row to the dais to stand beside the Helvetii, who nodded gratefully. “We must select the One.” 

The white-haired man resumed his seat with a huff. “I have chosen my candidate.” 

The black silk robes of the Mandarin shifted silently around him as he turned. “Then you shall have no part in the vote, Suebi. We are a lawful assembly, guided by the order we have made. That is more important than the fond wishes of any one member to bring in another in his likeness. We are many, we are one.” He held the cold blue eyes in his gaze for a significant moment before turning to face the dais. 

The Suebi, knowing he had lost this round, leaned back against the cushions. The time would come when he could offer his candidate a position of power, but it was not yet. 

The Quaestores were moving among the seats now, distributing ballots. Each was a plain sheet, with a cross dividing the space into four quadrants and a red bar to indicate the top. The Suebi turned away as they passed him. 

Silence fell as the votes were cast, then each of the living members of the Forty rose to place their marked ballots in a bronze chalice with wavy rays stretching around its circumference, standing on a low chestnut table in front of the three steps up to the dais. 

When all were finished, the Helvetii and the Cymru lifted the chalice and the table to beside the lectern, took up each sheet, examined it, then finally set it on one of four silver trays. A nod, then the papers were checked again, this time by the Mughal and the Danaan. For a decision such as this, there could be no question of legitimacy. When the four were agreed, the Cymru, Danaan, and Mughal resumed their seats. 

The tip of the Helvetii’s bear cane landed on the image of the blonde woman on the upper right. “The Slav. If she will join us. We must now seek, with persuasion and knowledge, to bring her into our fold. Her wisdom will elevate us, and her sense of justice will guide us.” 

“We are many, we are one.” The Assembly, minus one voice, intoned. 

As the members filed out, each to return to their lives outside their paneled chambers, the Cymru felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he met the concerned eyes of the Quaestor Parricidus who had retrieved the Atrebates. “You do honor to your office, Brother.” He took the arm in the order’s Roman grip, then both crossed their arms. 

“We are many, we are one. Mighty Cymru, I seek your advice.” 

The red-haired man guided them to a pair of now-empty black seats. “How may I be of service?”

The younger man shifted on the cushions, rubbing his hands together inside the grey velvet robes of his office. “When I was recovering the Atrebates, I felt something. One of power. One near.” 

The Cymru sighed. “As you should have. We have elevated the Atrebates, and you were near the son of one. Further, our long-absent Brother had taken a Lioness of Judah as his wife. Any children of the two would have combined the considerable strengths of both of them. You should feel commended for your sensitivity, not concerned as a result of its existence.” 

The younger man rubbed the velvet over his knees. “I don’t know. It was more than that, I think. When, Mighty Cymru, will you return across the water?” 

The red-haired man studied his colleague for a moment. “Tomorrow, I am afraid. My life Outside has duties, but, at least, while I perform them, I can find an excuse to seek out our Brother’s son, to see inside him. Then I can follow up on your intuition. You do honor to your office to have come forward with this, Brother.” They gripped forearms again. “Be at peace.” After intoning the Incantation together, they rose to go their separate ways.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, 11:47 am

“Mulder, I think I have something.” She unfolded from the couch to walk over to him. 

He stopped scribbling at the worktable to look up at her. “Yeah?” 

She opened the notebook in her hand to the first page as she laid it before him. “This isn’t about the Forty. This is a diary, supposedly of your Dad’s.” She pointed to the aluminum crate on the floor, its lid flipped back. “I just opened this one up.” She had hesitated to show him the page, but the contents were too important, especially now, if they were real. He took the binder off the table to read the entry she was tapping with her index finger.

\--o-0-o--

June 14, 1974  
The boy is back. I agreed to let them take him to put one final barrier up between him and his sister. She must never return to this family, or the agreement I made will kill us all.

Actually, the boy isn’t back. When they took him, they said it was for one session only, but they lied. He’s not my boy anymore. They’ve handed me back a morose, silent thing, more like the woman who bore him is now, than the vivacious light she used to be. 

I needed to save my job. There are connections that have to stay open across the waves, or we will have no hope. But, my family is gone. There will soon be nothing left to save. I have given it all away to them.

\--o-0-o--

Snap. The binder slammed shut as it tumbled to the floor. His hands were trembling, suspended in the air, but he felt as if he were seeing them on a projector, not that they were attached to his arms. He watched strong, delicate fingers slide around each palm, auburn curls tuck under his chin. He knew he should feel warmth, the sorrowing comfort of breath on his neck, but his mind felt disconnected from his body. The curls pulled away, then tiny palms were wrapped around his cheeks, the thumbs on either side of his hated, too-large nose. A quiet, low voice was speaking his name, but it was far-off, like a lighthouse horn sounding in the fog. Finally, he felt the hands smoothing his hair before resting again on his stubble.

“Scull-lee.” The syllables emerged separately, as if held together with a long chain. He was drifting along that line, beginning to hear her deep, even breaths, then felt the warmth on his cheeks, until he was himself again, whole and seated across from the one person he trusted more than any other. “I’m okay. Thank you. I needed to know.”

But she was frowning. “Mulder, how do we know that’s real?” 

He straightened, reaching up to slide down her hands and press her two palms between his long fingers. “I know it, Scully. Sometimes.” He shook his head. “Just sometimes, he wasn’t yelling, or drinking, or, you know.” He paused, waiting for her affirming nod. “That man would be there.” His eyes flicked downward. “I couldn’t hate that man. Not then, not now. I feared the others. But not him.” 

She leaned away, taking the warmth out of his grasp. “Then, okay. Mulder. I’ll trust your instincts on this one.” 

After a sigh, the dark-haired agent lifted the binder from the floor, crossing the room to the aluminum container to sit on the cushions beside it. Leaving this first notebook on his lap, he reached in to take another, gratified she had joined him so they could conclude their examination. After they had set out the other bound documents to flip through them all, he looked over. “These are all diaries of his, are yours?” 

She closed the pages of the bottom notebook, then nodded. “So it would appear.” She would wait until the physical dating and analysis of the parchment and inks was complete before she could accept their veracity, despite his assurances. 

He padded into the workshop, his fingers wrapped around the first notebook. “Guys?” Three heads turned. “Have any of the other boxes held just diaries by my Dad?” 

Byers shook his head. “They’ve all been about this society, the Forty, as Agent Scully calls them, and its rituals.” He pointed to the workbench. “We’re almost done putting together this broadband scanner to read them all in.” 

Langly rolled away from the pockmarked butcher-block surface. “Yeah, we wanted something that would activate any hidden or faded inks, just in case. If this group really is as old as you think it is, then there’s a chance - “ 

“That these will be palimpsests, where newer content has been written over older.” Scully finished from her partner’s elbow. 

Nodding, Frohike stepped over to them. “Or was purposely concealed.” He waved at two long glass tubes suspended over a light table, wires tie-wrapped down one leg of the mount to a desk-top power supply. “We should be ready to go in a few.” 

Mulder turned to his partner. “If this is the only box with simple diaries of my Dad’s, then we know which one doesn’t fit the rest.” 

She nodded. “Given that your Father and the Smoker worked together, it’s possible he left this behind when he resigned, and the Smoker just had it added to the cache to confuse us. The inks and paper all look like what we saw in the D’Amato notebooks, but those we can have dated and analyzed by the experts at the Bureau.” 

The dark-haired man canted his eyes toward the round-faced Gunman for a moment. “Pendrell? Or does Phillips still have him laden down with selecting tuxedos and limousines?” His red-haired agent had complained about the elaborate nuptials Terry and her Mother had been roping him into when he had met him at his apartment on the day of their return. 

A ripple of chuckles ran through the small group before the ginger curls shook. “No, there are other techs we can use for documents and inks, especially in the Field Offices.” She stood on tip-toe as he cocked his head to hear her quiet explanation. “Terry can still get a little proprietary around Arthur if I’m not careful when I speak with him, Mulder.” 

He tried not to snort at this new, yet entirely expected, information, but failed. 

Byers frowned at the two. “Agents, I think we’re ready to try this out, if you’d like to observe.” 

Still holding the bound notebook, Mulder crossed his arms to wait. 

Scully stepped over to the workbench to peer at rails mounted on the side of the darkened light table as she explained for her partner’s sake. “This belt system you’ve installed. It lets you scan like a copier.” She pointed to two long tubes, one broadcasting bright light, and one a narrow, dark slit with wires fixed with electrical tape to the ends and at points one-third of the way along its length. “There’s the light, and there’s the detector.” 

Langly nodded. “Right, Doc. A hand-held system wouldn’t scroll evenly, so we’re trying this.” 

Mulder had joined them. “So, let’s see this wonder do its thing, Guys.” 

Frohike tapped a lever on the power supply. The overhead lamp flickered on, then the mount began moving down the page. “We can adjust the intensity of the one source and we won’t have to disassemble the documents yet.” He had raised his voice slightly to speak over the buzz of the motor. “We may need to, but, that would be a bear to work with. We’re counting on the light being reflected back from just inside the parchment, rather than penetrating both sides of a page. That’d be difficult to interpret.” 

Mulder turned to his partner, who was nodding in agreement. 

She looked up at him. “You see, Mulder - “ She twitched at an electrical sputter.

Shaking his hand, Langly had jumped out of his chair. “Man, somebody got that wired wrong.” 

Byers grunted. “Looks like it’ll be a while before this demo actually happens.” 

Scully brushed her partner’s shoulder with an index finger. “In that case, Mulder, we need to go call Annapolis.“

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen / Margaret Scully Residence  
Alexandria, VA / Annapolis, VA  
Sunday, 2:53 pm

After hooking a small speaker into a connector panel, the auburn-haired pathologist tapped out her Mother’s number, then waited for a click. “Mom?” Scully and her partner had retired to the guest bedroom to speak in privacy, she at the writing desk while Mulder alternated between pacing and bouncing on the thick, stiff mattress. 

“Dana?” Margaret settled onto a ladderback kitchen chair. “You called on the land-line, good. Wait a second.” She toggled a green lever, staying motionless until the red light became steady. “Okay, it’s working. Mister Byers made me install it four times at their office so I could do it by myself when I got home.” 

“Mom, Mulder’s here with me.” 

His hands deep in his pockets, he leaned over his partner’s shoulder. “Hey, Mrs. Scully.” He retreated to bounce on the down, still as she had left it, balled at the foot of the bed. 

The auburn-haired pathologist turned the speaker so her Mother’s, “Hello, Fox,” sounded more clearly in the room. 

“Oh, wait.” Scully flipped a purple lever on a similar box. “Okay, now, we’re good.” 

“Dana, are you two okay?” 

“We are, Mom. Byers told us about the Smoker. Did he hurt you?” 

Mulder stopped fidgeting to cross his arms. 

“No, Dana, he didn’t. He threatened you and everyone I love, but he didn’t touch me.“ 

“Mom, we need to get you to safety.” 

In two long strides, Mulder crossed the space to lean against the desk, as close to her back as he could settle. 

The older woman released a long breath. “I know, Dana. I called Caroline and Max. They said some horrible things that I’m sure are true about that man. Caroline...” She bit her lip. “Caroline said he...” The dark-haired woman shook her head. “He acted like he was in love with her.” 

Scully frowned at this information. 

“But, Caroline told me he couldn’t be trusted. She said...” 

The younger woman leaned forward. “Mom, what did she say?” 

Margaret sat upright. “She said, she was certain, if he felt he felt he needed to, he would shoot her, then weep while holding her cooling corpse in his arms.” 

Scully tucked her chin. Her partner’s breath was coming in shallow, quick gasps, so, knowing he needed an anchor at that moment, she reached for his elbow. “Mom, believe her. That’s why you have to get somewhere safe.” She looked up to meet Mulder’s darkening gaze. “We can put you in witness protection.” 

“Dana, I couldn’t do that. Elizabeth is going to have another baby.” 

One auburn brow began arching on her forehead, the sight tweaking her partner’s lips as she watched his face. There was no time to derail their conversation on this particular endless topic, so she chose to question without enthusiasm, as if she were interrogating a witness. “That’s great, Mom, but they’ll need their Grandma around, won’t they? Is there somewhere else you can go?” 

Margaret reached down to scratch the chin of the Pomeranian, who was panting beside her ankle, his short legs stretched out behind him. “I think so. Admiral Donovan was an Assistant Secretary of State during the Clinton transition, and he’s kept his Diplomatic Security Service protection. In fact, with those men who were hanging around before I left to go to the Mediterranean, he’s increased it. He’s checked with the neighbors several times. I’ll ask if I can stay with them - “ 

“Mom!” She was on her feet. “You can’t tell them.” 

“Dana, I know. I’ll say my power is out. In fact, I’ll trip the main breaker in case anyone sniffs around the outside, and ask if Red Boy and I can stay with them for a while. The Admiral travels so much that Janet and I spend a lot of time together anyway.” 

Scully sighed as she settled back on the brocade of the ochre ottoman that doubled as the desk chair. “Okay. But, we need to talk this over with Bill and Charlie. They’ll need to know, Mom. They won’t like it, and they’ll blame me, which is fine. They can hate me all they want as long as we keep you safe. We’re family.” She reached up to brush her fingers across the back of the large hand that had landed on her shoulder. 

Margaret frowned. “All right, dear.” That was the last thing she expected from her daughter. “I’ll give you a call when I’m settled.” 

“Okay, Mom, bye.” The dark-haired agent was prowling the room when she terminated the connection, so she stepped into his path. “We couldn’t keep her from knowing all this forever, Mulder. You understand that, don’t you?” 

He sagged against the dresser. “Yeah, I do.” 

She leaned close to her partner. “Mulder, did the Smoker ever come to your house?” 

He shrugged. “I remember his cigarette smoke from when I was a very young child, vaguely, around the times of these parties my Dad would have my Mom put on for the people he worked with. But after my Mom and Dad split up, I never saw him, at either house.” He met her eyes. “He looked very different as a young man. What you see now was nothing like he was then.”

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Sunday, 12:57 pm

Pushing his white hair back up on his forehead, the Suebi set the book of minutes from 1955 on the shelves in the Suola archive room. He was replaying in his mind the overheard discussion between the Cymru and the Quaestor as he rotated the dial on the antique Mantuan safe by the door. He finished with a rattle of its handle, set under the bronzed letters RJM. Originals of the documents his candidate had submitted as proof of worth were now securely stored, freeing his thoughts to track along new paths. _So, One of Power is rising._ Questions swirled in his mind. Was this son of an Atrebates one who would cross over, to become a full member of the Forty, at some time in the future, or was he, all unawares of his office, attendant on a power yet to be? Only time would tell, but, the man he was about to meet might be able to help. 

He had learned of his candidate for the Slav through covert channels, communications links that were known to but a few, still. The organization that maintained them was old in the eyes of most of the world, but young, so young, compared to the Ekklesia. It dated back to the second global conflagration that had almost destroyed the Forty. But, from those dark times, new worlds had risen, worlds the Riata had steered their fellowship to guide. Yet, he, himself, had kept track of the forces arrayed against Her noble crusade toward Enlightenment, listening to conversations in dark rooms full of thick chairs, between men who shared cigars and fine brandies. 

It was from that Consortium his candidate had removed himself, putting himself in exile from his country and his profession, while in possession of digital evidence of the Organization’s founding and operations. The candidate had been attempting to sell the secrets he held when they had met. But, it was not to be. The united voice of the Forty had spoken, so after a short plane ride back to his estate, he would relate the sad news to his Chosen, then set them on a new path. 

“Good evening, Sir.” A slight man in a dark blue uniform, his hair as white as his own, offered his hand to the Suebi, helping him settle in the back seat of a black Mercedes-Benz, the windows as dark as the paint on the exterior metal. 

“Thank you, Frijdolf.” As the vehicle rolled smoothly along Kings Hedges Road, his shoulders slumped. “How many years have we been together, Frijdolf?” 

“Thirty-five next May, Sir.” The pale blue eyes regarded the white-haired man fingering his Sun-tie-tack. “Not all going well, Sir?” 

Suebi shook his head. “It is but a mere pebble on our path, Frijdolf. A mere pebble.” He sighed again. “Shall we have some Brahms, Old Friend? A violin concerto perhaps?”

“Opus 77, Sir?” 

“That would be most appropriate, I believe.” The melancholy behind his employer’s decorous phrases had Frijdolf selecting the Perlman, which he had commented often was his favorite. The pair proceeded to retreat, each to the solitude of his own thoughts for the short drive to Cambridge International Airport, then home. 

The Suebi thought fondly of the yew trees, their dark green spiky leaves and red berries waving in the breeze, lining the drive to the favorite among his ancestral homes, Fenleyding, then shook his head. The tourists he was forced to admit to pay for the upkeep of his estate kept mangling its name as Fens Landing, such was the ignorance of the age. They could, or would, not understand the black wolf on the family crest, or the leather scrolling around its edge. His thoughts returned to the tiny woman whose loss he found he could not cease mourning. His dear Riata had left much undone, but the forces arrayed against her were always powerful. Perhaps her replacement could carry the fight to success.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, 3:17 pm

“Doc, G-man, check this out!” Langly was beaming. The scanner was finally working as they both entered the workshop. 

The words on the paper were materializing on the computer screen, but, at right angles, a second set of letters crossed the pages. 

Both agents were bent intently over the glass, Scully’s head cocked to the left. “Mulder, this is more of your Dad’s writing.” 

He grasped the low back of her elevated lab chair to read over her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s not in code. He either meant for me to find it eventually, or it’s been planted, too.” 

She leaned away. “At least we have an approach, now.” She rubbed small circles in her temples. “But, we have double the materials we’ll need to work through.” 

He nodded.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, 11:56 pm

Langly set a notebook back in its crate. “That’s all of them. We’ve sampled a document from each of the containers, and, not just the one on top. It’s as random a test as we can make it.” 

Mulder had been pacing in the living room while the work had continued. Scully had been reading both sets of lines from each page as the scanning finished. He crossed over to hover behind her as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. 

The auburn-haired agent met her partner’s gaze. “Right now, we can say definitively that the only set of documents with a single layer of text is just from that box I opened this morning.” She reached toward him. “Mulder, when we’ve finished scanning, if you feel up to it - “ 

His arms crossed, he nodded. “Yeah. I need to know what he knew. About everything, if he could be honest about it, even with himself.” He massaged the back of his neck, then lifted his eyes to hers, sending his gratitude silently with a subdued grin. “Then I’ll let Mom take a crack at it.” 

Two auburn eyebrows arched. “If she can verify any of it. She said your Dad didn’t talk about his work with her, and, after meeting Christina Knox, I can believe that.” 

He began pacing. “It keeps coming back to her, doesn’t it?” He ran both hands through his short hair, leaving it sticking up at angles. “If we had only known what she knew, if she had been willing to be open with us, we would be so much further ahead.” 

She slipped off her chair to stand close to him. “Mulder, we’ll work around that. We finally worked around losing Deep Throat, remember.” 

He checked the faces around the room. Byers had glanced at his watch at least three times during the past five minutes, sighing each time. Langly had taken off his glasses to rub his eyes. Frohike’s round face kept dropping forward, awakening when his chin bounced on his chest. _They all needed a break._ “Guys.” He waited while they focused on him. “This is great, really. I can’t thank each and every one of you enough.” He met each of their eyes in turn. “My Dad and I, it’s like I finally will know what he never got to tell me about these things we’ve found, and it’s all due to your work. But, it’s been a bunch of long days, for all of us. Let’s stop, get cleaned up, get a good meal, and some rest. Tomorrow-” He paused to correct himself with a shrug. “A little later on today, that is, Scully and I will meet with Skinner and get Cynthia to help with this. We’ve got a longer haul ahead of us than we did with the D’Amato notebooks.” 

Byers stood in front of him. “Mulder, you don’t understand.” He looked, first, to the dark-haired agent, then to his diminutive partner. “We didn’t do this just for you. We’re journalists.“ 

Langly and Frohike had stepped up close to the three before the long-haired Gunman continued. ”With your two’s help, we’ve managed to uncover more than we ever could have on our own, and, especially with yours, Doc.” He bowed his head. 

Frohike took up the explanation. “That, and you two have kept us from running back to simple government conspiracy fallacies. If we hadn’t learned enough to let that go, we couldn’t have helped you on the ice or in Africa. We wouldn’t have seen the things we’ve seen, or documented them.” All five found themselves thinking of Langly’s videotapes of the shape-shifter craft on the Beaufort sea-ice. In addition, there were pieces of alien technology he and Rosen had retrieved, stored securely in the safe in the Gunman’s basement facility. “With these new documents, not only can we finish demolishing the monsters who have thwarted the will of the American people for decades, but we may have uncovered a new threat that extends beyond the borders of the USA.” He sagged onto a work stool. “But, we’re out of practice for the long hours, Mulder. I’d rather try to catch a few Z’s.”

Byers checked his watch. “I think I can just reach Vicky before she heads out. She’s in Berlin for a conference, and she’s meeting some colleagues for breakfast.”

Langly just sighed as he walked out of the workroom. “Long day.” 

The fatigued partners were left standing shoulder to shoulder, leaning into each other from the revelations of the short week since their arrival. 

A quick twist, then Mulder’s hands gripped both of the slight shoulders, wanting to thank her for more than just the work with the documents. “You pushed us to go to Massachusetts, Scully, and look what we have now.” 

She patted his side, then stepped back. They had been functioning so smoothly together, she hated to do anything to jeopardize it, but she could not refrain from airing her concerns with him. With a deep breath, she began. “Mulder, I just wanted us to do what was right. We needed to settle the question of your Father’s death, and we have. I’m sorry, though, that we couldn’t return him to Abel's Hill as he had wished.” She reached for his elbow, but dropped her hand as he nodded numbly. “We also need to get someone to help with this implanted suggestion about your sister. Perhaps we can learn why it’s only affecting you now. You’ve spoken her name without this kind of incident for as long as I’ve known you.” 

His eyes, which had been clear, darkened as he crossed his arms tightly. “You’re the only one I trust with this, Scully. There are others would try to use it against me, against us, to try to set back our work.” 

She bent her head to look up into his face. “That’s exactly why we need to deal with it, sooner rather than later. As your partner, I couldn’t claim to have your back if I let these torments attack you, especially not when I think there is a way we can address them.” Her professional, normally confident tone dropped to a hushed whisper. “As your friend, I hurt when you hurt.” His eyes were shining, so she continued quickly. “I owe it to you, for so many, many reasons, to stand by you in this.” 

“Scully.” He found he was unable to offer anything other than a simple whisper in response. 

Stepping away, she began pacing. “But, Mulder, I’m not a psychologist, like you. You helped me so much when I was remembering what happened while I was gone, but, I can’t reciprocate, not in the same way. If you had a broken arm, a torn tendon, were poisoned by shape-shifter blood, I could treat it, but, this.” She stopped in front of him. “I can be your partner, your friend, offer you all my support as we deal with it, but, I can’t be your doctor.” 

He stared down at his black running shoes, a thousand bounding questions chasing through his mind. “So, what are you saying?” 

Now, she patted his muscled forearms, bringing his gaze up to hers. “I think we should ask Maria Alvarez to come to DC for a visit.” 

Straightening, he ran his hand through his hair. “I hadn’t thought about her. I expected you to say Doctor Pomeranz.” 

She shook her auburn curls. “After how little he did for me, I’d never suggest him, Mulder. Doctor Werber is retired to Mexico, so we can’t use him. But as for Maria, why not? She knows you. She knows what you’ve been through, at least some of it. She helped us with Saunders. I couldn’t take this to a Bureau therapist; they’d never understand. But, she would.” 

The tall agent nodded. “Okay. Once we have these documents squared away, we can try setting up a session with her. She has the training, and she said she’s used the therapy on other patients, but she never regressed me while I was at the rest retreat.” 

Scully sighed, remembering the black-haired psychologist explaining that her hyper-kinetic partner had been too worried about finding her to recover fully from the infection he had picked up from Kristen Kilar. “Then she won’t have any preset expectations, nor will she try to push you in a direction other than to help you heal.” Relieved they had reached consensus on a path forward, she took a long, theatrical sniff. “I think I could go for another soak in Vicky’s tub.” 

One dark eyebrow canted, his jest submerged into a rumble in his throat. 

She tossed her head, aware he knew what her riposte would be without having to voice it.

He touched her back to guide her out of the workshop. “Now, don’t make promises I know you won’t be keeping, Scully.” As he sent a lop-sided grin down to her, she quirked an auburn eyebrow, before she stepped into the guest bedroom. He turned, after a little wave toward the closed door, into the hall bathroom.

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter II - Many Happy Returns


	3. Checkmate

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter III – Checkmate

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Black Champion: Sir, do you play chess, Sir?   
The Prisoner: Yes.  
Black Champion: Come and join us.   
Queen: I am the Queen, come and be the Queen’s Pawn.   
The Prisoner: Right. Uh, who's he?  
Queen: I’ll answer that as we play.   
White Champion: Pawn to King’s Four.   
The Prisoner: Well?   
Queen: He's the champion.  
Black Champion: Pawn to King’s Four.   
The Prisoner: Who *was* he?  
Queen: Hard to say.   
White Champion: Knight to Queen’s Bishop’s Three.   
Queen: I've heard rumors.  
The Prisoner: Such as?  
Queen: Ex-count.   
Black Champion: Knight to Knight’s Bishop’s Three.   
The Prisoner: From?  
Queen: Don’t know.   
White Champion: Knight to Knight’s Five.   
Queen: Ancestors used to play using their retainers -   
Black Champion: Bishop to Knight’s Five.   
Queen: - as chess pieces. They say they were   
beheaded as they were wiped from the board.   
The Prisoner: Charming.  
Queen: Oh, don't worry; it's not allowed here.   
White Champion: Knight to King’s Bishop’s Three.   
The Prisoner: Who is Number One?   
Queen: It doesn’t do to ask questions. 

Checkmate

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Fenleyding, Northumbria  
Sunday, June 7, 1998  
3:03 pm 

The dark-haired man who was waiting by the helicopter pad in the side-yard was pacing in frustration and impatience. The Smoker would never have subjected his plan to the deliberation of the whole organization. Instead, as when he, in one of his last acts as a member, had been ordered to terminate Bill Mulder, the decision would have been taken after a few minutes of thought, then his superior would have found some lie to fling at the elders in New York. He held a hand over his head as air whirled at the descent of the helicopter. But those men were dead, killed in an explosion that had all the hallmarks of Gilbert Lindauer. He had come to learn his intuition about the tall Nordic operative had been correct. But, he, too, was gone now, killed by loyalists under the guidance of Morley Man, so he had been forced to cast his lot in with these old enemies of the Organization. 

He nodded to the white-haired elder who had just stepped up beside him. “So?” 

A long arm dropped over his shoulder. “Come inside, my friend. We have much to discuss.” The Suebi turned to the white-haired man in a blue uniform. “Thank you, Frijdolf. The trip was smooth and precise, as always.” 

With a nod, the slight man preceded the pair, holding the door until both passed through. “Shall I bring some refreshment to your study, Sir?” 

The Suebi offered a broad smile, then the inclination of a white head. “That would be most appreciated, my Friend.”

\--o-0-o--

Fenleyding, Northumbria  
Sunday, 3:23 pm

Once settled on deep leather chairs whose legs ended in carved clawed paws, the Suebi took a sip of Darjeeling, then set the Blue Willow cup and saucer on the side table. “Now, my Friend, I have some bad news.” 

The dark-haired man fidgeted. “What? I am not to be one of their precious Forty?” 

A long, pale nose wrinkled. “No, the Leges Duodecim Tabularum stand. The seat of the Slav will go to a distinguished female legislator from one of the Baltic States, if she will agree.” He looked over at the audible burst of air from across the Isfahan carpet. “I can say no more than that to you. It is our way.”

The younger man was bouncing around the room. “Well, we can eliminate her, and then they will have to pick me.” 

The single blow of an aged fist rattled the Wedgewood on the table. “No, I will not allow that! We have a different path to the same end that does not involve violence.” Standing, he stamped his foot on the slate hearth. “You must unlearn the ways of your former employers if we are to succeed with my plan.” 

Dark eyes narrowed as the younger man returned to his seat. _My plan, you old fool._ “So, what *is* your idea now?” 

A steepling of fingers after the Suebi sat. “As one of the Forty, I can appoint, without review, one such as yourself to be a Quaestor or to hold some lesser office. Never fear, they have much power, if exercised properly. I am selecting you as one of the Tribuni Plebis, and, as such, you will have broad authority to reject the decisions of the Ekklesia, or to protect an outsider from its deliberations, or to determine who may or may not be an Atrebates or one of the Forty. You could even remove me, though that decision would be most unwise.” 

Krycek began to rise, but forced himself to remain seated. “So, how does this happen?” 

One angular shoulder drooped. “The sound has gone out. So, you knew this son of the Atrebates we have only recently been able to recover to our care.” He waved his tapered fingers, “Please, tell me of your time with him.” 

The dark-haired man sent a cutting glare toward the Suebi. His plan for Fox Mulder’s destruction and demise was secondary to his main objective, but the description of the tall agent’s personality was all the old man in the chestnut leather seat seemed to care to hear. “Yeah, he was a difficult read, with that British education, his time in Behavioral Sciences, and his intuitive approach to solving his tripped-out cases. I had my orders, but, despite all that, there was a small part of me that genuinely admired the guy. Then, there was his partnership with Scully-” 

“This is the woman agent your Organization both handed him and removed?” 

“Yeah, then returned her, for whatever insane reason.” The brown head shook. “The Smoker kept saying she was more useful alive than as a dead test subject, that she gave Mulder something to fixate over besides his sister, something else they could take away to reel him in. The way he obsessed over her disappearance was a little over-the-top. But, as far as I could tell, they just worked together. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship.” 

“Ah, an intellectual partnership. Very powerful. Most powerful, indeed. Tell me of her.” 

Krycek failed to suppress another frustrated fidget. “Oh, she’s a tiny thing. It was always so odd to see them together, arguing furiously in that academic tone they took with each other, him waving his arms at her, that red hair of hers bobbing along at his shoulder level - ” 

The Suebi leaned forward. “Red, did you say?” _The sign of flame from on high._ Perhaps the Aborigine knew something he did not. 

“Yeah. A pathologist. She was considered to have the potential to be a better agent than he was, because she constantly worked harder at it. When he was just a field agent or in BS, I’m told he could skate by, making observations his superiors couldn’t get enough of.” 

The older man fixed Krycek in a penetrating stare. “Very well. Now, the rest of your plan, Tribuno, if you would be so kind.” 

The dark-haired former operative settled back, then began to speak. His long wait for his revenge, against all his enemies, was finally coming to an end, although there were parts he had no intention of relating to the white-haired man who had kept his crystal blue eyes on him.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
FBI Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Monday, June 8, 1998  
7:11 am

Cynthia Mulholland had just set a pencil behind her ear when a large green and white paper cup, steam rising out of the lid, materialized in the center of her desk. When she looked up, a pair of twinkling hazel eyes met hers. “Agent Mulder? When did you get back in town?” 

“Actually, Cynthia, we’ve been back since Friday.” Dana Scully walked around her partner to pat the younger woman’s shoulder. After glancing at the papers spread across her desk, the auburn-haired pathologist smiled. “More homework?” 

Suddenly self-conscious, the brunette shifted a folder on top of her papers. “No, Agent Scully, this is the take-home final.” 

The partners exchanged a glance, before the dark-haired man lofted a follow-up. “So, when do you have to turn it in?” 

The younger woman took down the pencil to fiddle with it. “I have until Tuesday night.” She shifted the folder off the stack to straighten the papers. “But, if there’s something you need from me, I can get an extension, if you write me a note, Agent Mulder.” 

Rapidly spinning up three quips that would soften his request, he grinned at his diminutive partner. But, she cocked an eyebrow at him before firmly shaking her head. 

Scully took a step toward her doorway. “No, Cyndie, this can wait. Doctor Leibniz comes first.” 

Mulder followed his partner to her desk. When she sat down, he, his arms crossed, leaned against the grey metal. “So, whom do we ask next, Doctor Scully?” 

She was powering up her computer, the image of a fat penguin, its webbed feet sprawled out in front of him, flashing on the screen as it booted. “It’s time Terry thought about something other than chrysanthemums and daisies, Mulder.” After paging through her scanned copy of the Hoover Building phone directory, she reached for the handset. 

The dark-haired agent let out a snort, then stepped through their adjoining door into his space. “I’m getting as far away as I can from the first blast of *that* particular trumpet.” He saw his seat had been pulled away from the oak, that there was a small depression in the center of the cushion. A flash of a grin, then he faced his front door. “Ooooh, I wonder who’s been sitting in my chair?” 

A tiny giggle from the administrative space in front of their adjoining offices was all the answer he needed.

\--o-0-o--

Evidence Lab / X-Files East Offices  
Hoover Building / FBI Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC / Washington, DC  
Monday, 7:17 am

“Terry?” Arthur Pendrell was holding the handset against his chest. “It’s Agent Scully. She needs your help.” 

Laying down her pipette, the brunette chemist frowned through her lab glasses. “What? Are they back already?” 

He held the phone out for her to take. “I guess. She’s calling from the Field Office.” 

Phillips dropped her lab glasses onto the laminated surface before taking a deep breath. “Agent Scully, what may I do for you?” 

Mulder turned his visitor’s chair toward their shared door to sit where he could peruse the documentation building up on his desk, keeping his partner in sight, but attempting to read through the pages of the topmost folder. 

The auburn-haired pathologist tucked her chin. “Agent Phillips, I realize this is a little out of your normal field of expertise, but, we have evidence that pertains to an ongoing investigation. With your and Agent Pendrell’s assistance, we can finish our analysis in half the time.” She twisted against the oak slats of the chair back.

Terry frowned. “Okay, Agent Scully. Where should we meet you, and when?” 

The diminutive pathologist rattled off the address without identifying the occupants. There was no point in making it easier for anyone who might be surveilling the conversation to understand their purpose. “We’ll see you there in two hours, Agent Phillips. Thank you.” She placed the handset on the base as she cocked her head at her hovering partner. 

He, his hands in his pockets, had been leaning against the door-frame. “You’ll be taking over the big chair here soon, Scully.” 

She shook her head. “That was the easy part, Mulder. Phillips has to get past her antipathy to me, so we can function as a team, all four of us. When you were in Santorini, it was just awkward when I spent time working in the lab with the two of them. If we find ourselves in a life-threatening situation, we can’t let anything get in the way.” She shuffled some folders on her desk, then stepped from behind it to walk to the door. Since Cynthia was scribbling studiously, she had no desire to disturb her with their conversation. She exchanged a glance with Mulder, who, with a nod, disappeared around the wall. She heard, “Carry on, Ma’am,” from her partner, then the click of his door-latch. _So far, so good._

He returned with one of her metal visitor’s chairs, which he placed in front of her desk, back toward her. After straddling the seat, he crossed his arms over the top rail. “So, what’s on your mind, Scully?” 

She slipped out of her black flats, lining them up side by side with her toes before shifting them to the right, out of her way. Had she not been so short, she would have propped her hose-covered feet up, as he did when they were deep in a discussion. Instead, she rolled herself around next to him, propelling herself across the tiles by her heels. “Just how hard it’s going to be for Phillips, now, Mulder.” 

He rested his cheek on his forearms, but kept silent. They had argued about this once before, on the Chester Banton case, but had come to no resolution then. Knowing his partner as he did, she had, no doubt, been debating with herself when it would be worth raising the issue again. Now, especially now, seemed to be the time. _Okay, Scully, I’m listening._

She tucked her feet up on the wide oak seat, wedging her fingers between the knees of the black linen of her trousers until she had ordered her thoughts. “When I came into the Bureau, I knew it was a boy’s club, but, that just made me want to succeed here all the more. I knew I had to be smarter, better, faster, more willing to do the useless grunt work of law enforcement to make it here. I’d been having to prove myself at home, in school, then college and medical school, over and over. The FBI was harder in some ways, and easier in others.” She leaned close to his face. “In case you’re wondering, G-man, you are most emphatically not one of the things that makes the Bureau harder.” 

His dark eyebrows canted over a flush to his cheeks, but, he continued to wait. 

She straightened. “When women come into a workplace, they enter it, not as recognized experts, but as junior staff. It’s easy to get hired; the law sees to that. But, to advance, a woman needs allies, usually men, to give her a chance, to provide a safe haven and encouragement so she can move forward, help to navigate the hidden labyrinths of professions. For me, you, and to a lesser extent, Director Skinner, have been those allies.” 

Nodding, the dark-haired agent stood to turn the chair so he could sit facing his partner. After settling, he leaned toward her. “Scully, you...” Remembering how she had felt after receiving a medal for her work in Chiapas, he studied his hands for a moment. “You think you haven’t earned this promotion? You have, thousands of times over, and not just for all the times you’ve pulled my ass out of trouble. Phillips should look up to you as a figure to emulate, not as someone who’s going to take away her boyfriend.” 

“But, that’s just the problem, Mulder.” She set her feet on the vinyl tiles so they were knee to knee. “She sees where I am, and thinks that’s just a good start. She’s made a professional success of herself, but now, she wants more. She wants to have it all: career, husband, and children, just the way men have all that.” 

Crossing his arms, he slumped down in his chair. “The Bureau will make that hard. They make it hard on men, too, with the workload, but without the added prejudice, the way it is for women and minorities.” His mind traveled, unbidden, back to a conversation in Miami with Margaret Scully, as he had struggled to explain to her the privilege he considered being in this partnership with her auburn-haired daughter. 

“I know, Mulder.” She leaned forward. “I see how many marriages fail here, even with only one party in the Bureau. I’d like to see Arthur’s and Terry’s succeed, but I don’t know how to help them.” Finished, she stared down at the floor, but, when his long fingers brushed her shoulder, looked back over at her partner. 

“We can only be fair and open-minded, Scully. That’s what we were with Rosen, and, she’s still working with us. I don’t think there are any other magic bullets we can use.” 

Her eyebrows arched. “Perhaps you’re right, Mulder.” She stood, then rolled her chair back behind her desk. After sitting, she wiggled her toes into her shoes while she flipped open a folder, then she began scribbling notes on a pad beside it. But, there was a shadow over the page, so she looked up into a pair of darkening hazel eyes. 

“Scully.” He was standing in front of her desk, regarding her somberly. “I know, with Cancerman out there, looking to exploit any vulnerability we might offer, that neither of us could consider it, but, once he’s behind bars, it won’t be an issue.” He leaned over the top, resting his weight on his fists. “You’re not a junior field agent, assigned to chase the FBI’s Most Unwanted through the Oregon woods anymore. You could have it all, then, too, you know.” His eyes dropped to the papers in front of her momentarily. “Not the kids, but a husband, as well as the work here on the X-Files, if you wanted it.” 

One auburn brow quirked. “Mulder, just how many cases have we chased through the woods over the years?” 

They found themselves chuckling with each other, enjoying the distraction. 

Sobering, she studied the pages in the folder for a few moments. Memories of Margaret Scully struggling to suppress her own independence to become a success as an officer’s wife appeared in her mind, followed quickly by relief at having avoided her Mother’s fate. She tossed her head, hoping to lighten and deflect their moods. “As could you, Mulder. Not the husband, unless there’s something you’ve never told me-” She paused as his cheek twitched. “-but the wife and kids. If it gave you a little comfort, that is, and a taste of that normal life you keep wondering about. I would be happy to be their Aunt Dana, and for you.” She leaned over the desk, hoping to put this serious topic behind them. 

A slight rumble of a chortle, then an almost inaudible sigh, before his dark eyebrows drew together as he straightened. “No.” His hands in his pockets, he stared down at the bright black leather of his shoes, his voice roughening as he continued. “You know me, Scully. You know how I am, what I am, but it doesn’t bother you. A woman who wasn’t you would try to change me into what Phillips will have with Pendrell. That’s not me.” He hunched over slightly as he propped himself against her desk. 

Closing the folder, she rose to circle the low box, then sit on its surface, crossing her feet at the ankles as she settled close to his shoulder. “Well, then, it looks like we’re stuck being who we are, Mulder.” She pushed away the unbidden memories of ‘Spooky and the Ice Queen’ taunts that had been flung at them both over the years. His canted eyebrows told her he was still trapped in his own darkness. “You and I, though, we’ve made peace with the cards we’ve been dealt, and decided to just live our lives, to not let ourselves be remade into what other people want us to be.” They held each other’s gaze, then she cocked her head. “It’s worked, despite all odds. You have your sister back. We’ve made a real difference with what we’ve uncovered, what we’ve proven to the world.” She brushed his arm with her shoulder as she slid to her feet. “We’re not leading lives of quiet frustration, like most people.”

They stayed close, he gazing down at her, she up at him, until the hazel lightened. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Scully.” 

The knock at the door had them both turning. “Agent Scully, Agent Mulder?” 

The partners separated to open their respective doors again. 

Clutching her stack of notes, Cynthia was outside Scully’s entrance. “It’s Chief Blevins. He’s here, with Director Skinner. He’s asking for you.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Monday, 5:06 am

Richard Gonzales was rubbing his face as Jerry Donato claimed the metal folding chair to his left. “Hey, partner, you’re looking pretty chipper.” It was time for the morning briefing, then the uniforms and detectives would be sent out for the day. 

Donato smiled. “I think I have some new information the Sarge will want to see.” 

Suddenly awake, Gonzales turned to him. “Oh?” 

The thick-chested detective nodded. “Oh, sorry, you took off before I could tell you. I ran our purchasers’s names past the artist I know, Professor Judith Seymour-Wilton. She recognized them immediately.” 

The African American sergeant had been standing behind them. “Good to know your hunch paid off, Detective. After morning call, step into my office. I may have something as well.”

\--o-0-o--

Martin Johnson stopped typing when the partners entered. “Close it behind you, detectives.”

Donato pushed the metal frame until the latch engaged, as Richard Gonzales took the seat farthest from the door. “Sarge, the buyers are from the Osaka Collective.” 

The African-American nodded. “I know. But, what Judy didn’t know was just how far their reach extends.” He began passing sheets of print-outs to his two officers. “You see, racehorses, construction corporations, international investment.” 

Jerry chewed his mustache. “But, isn’t that fairly typical for organizations that have enough profit to take an interest in the arts?” 

The Latino detective huffed at the pages in his hand. “I see, Sarge. There are these holding corporations that don’t make sense. Offices in Germany, Italy, and Japan, but not in China or any of the southeast Asian countries.” 

Donato looked over his shoulder. “But, here in the US, in Honolulu, Los Angeles, New York, and Washington, DC.” 

Johnson nodded. “We can’t, on our own time, look into these international connections.” The African American rose from behind the desk, leaning on the stacks of folders scattered haphazardly there. “But, some of these corporations have been showing up in Interpol alerts. We’re separate enough from the Evans murder that we can at least discuss this with ASAC Nichols during working hours. I’m pulling you two off the Muirlands surveillance and setting you loose on it. When you feel you’re sufficiently prepared, we’ll drop by the Bureau and see where we can go from there.”

\--o-0-o--

Skinner’s Office  
X-Files East  
FBI Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Monday, 7:59 am

The partners crossed into the Assistant Director’s space. The round-faced, white-haired chief, holding a slim folder upright between both palms, had claimed one of the boxy seats in front of Skinner’s desk. 

Mulder held his hand toward the free chair, so Scully lowered herself into it, while he stood resolutely by her side, his intense glare aimed at, alternately, the Assistant Director or the Chief. Blevins blinked guilelessly at some spot on the wall, while Skinner had taken off his glasses to rub his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. The dark-haired agent realized whatever was about to transpire, wouldn’t be pleasant. The thought set his pulse racing. 

Dana Scully shifted to face their superior. “Chief Blevins.” 

He fiddled with the folder, then turned to her, attempting a forceful glare but failing. “Agent Scully, I’d like you to voluntarily surrender your badge and weapon.” 

“Very well, Sir.” She learned forward, unclipping her SIG in its holster from her back. 

Mulder’s palm landed on her shoulder. “Scully, stop. He has to tell you why.” 

The Assistant Director’s jaw jutted, then his head flicked to one side. “Agent Mulder, stand down, now!” 

“No, Sir! I won’t!” The dark-haired man bent over to angle his face between his partner and the Chief, who was scowling. “Why? Why are you doing his?” 

Blevins met his gaze. “Mister Mulder, stand down or you will be removed from the room. This is something that concerns Agent Scully alone, not you.” 

She rested a palm on her partner’s arm, but her eyes never left the white-haired man’s face. “Chief Blevins, is this related to the events in the Alexandria courthouse?” 

Their round-faced superior practically threw the folder at her, raging as the papers cascaded onto the carpet, “Don’t question my authority, Agent, or we will do this the hard way! Surrender your badge and weapon ! Now!” 

Wordlessly, she handed over her official identity and defense. 

Blevins stood, dropping both on the wooden surface in front of him, before glaring down at the auburn-haired pathologist. “Agent Scully, you have a hearing in Room 110A at the Hoover Building tomorrow morning at ten am. Don’t be late.” He rounded on the dark-haired man. “Keep your temper under control, Mister Mulder, or this will not go well.” A grunt, offered grudgingly to the bald Director, then the Chief stalked out the door. 

Nearly incandescent with rage, Mulder was doubled over their superior’s desk, grasping the edge in front of Skinner’s tie. “Sir! This was supposed to be a formality, nothing more. Agent Scully was simply defending herself against an armed assassin, with whatever she could find. Is she to lose her badge, her job, for not being dead?” 

A rustle of pages brought the attentions of the two men back to the slight woman in the chair, who had gathered the sheets from the floor, then re-ordered them in the brown folder. “Mulder, there’s more going on here than just the Alexandria courthouse incident. They’re asking for all notes and documents related to investigations during and after the events of March 20, 1998.” 

He spun to face her. “What?” 

She held up one sheet. “We’ve only had one investigation after the explosions, and I don’t mean faked Theran artifacts.” 

The dark-haired agent began prowling, punching the air. “They’re after those containers, Scully, the ones...” He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to say more. 

She rose to step toward to her partner, but stopped to look back at the Assistant Director. “Sir, did you know what he was planning?” 

The bald man’s shoulders sagged as he gritted his teeth. “I had been assured, repeatedly, that your situation would be handled by memorandum, Scully. No one should lose his or her job for not being-” He paused as he looked up at the dark-haired agent, now by his partner’s side. “-dead.” Rising, he walked around his wooden and metal box to stand between the X-Files section heads. “Just minutes before he barged in here, I was preparing what I thought was the final document that would have closed the matter entirely.” 

Mulder, finally calm, met the Assistant Director's gaze. “Did you mention anything about our matters to anyone, Sir?” 

A significant stare into the younger man’s eyes was all the answer Skinner felt comfortable in offering. At his agent’s nod, he turned to the auburn-haired pathologist, his eyes softening as he began to speak. “Agent Scully, let me assure you, this will not go unchallenged.”

After dipping her head once to acknowledge his support, she shifted her gaze to the dark-haired man. “Then, let’s go, Mulder. We have a lot of work to do, and just a bit more than twenty-four hours to do it in.” 

Mulder was holding the door for his partner when they heard two metallic thuds, so they looked back. Skinner was locking Scully’s badge and SIG in his desk drawer. 

The bald director had sat. “I’ll bring these to the hearing. One way or another, they will be returned to you, as soon as I can arrange it.” He raised his dark eyes from the papers on his desk. “Officers of your caliber don’t come along very often, Agent Scully. The Bureau would be a far worse place absent your talents.” 

The diminutive pathologist was partway out the door, but turned to march back to the Assistant Director’s desk. Extending her hand, she waited for him to rise and shake it. “Thank you, Sir. I appreciate your confidence in me.” 

Skinner opened his mouth, then closed it again, choosing, rather than responding, to study the folders in front of him. 

She was back at the doorway before he sat, his hand reflexively smoothing his tie.

Focused on her auburn crown, the dark-haired agent dropped a hand to his partner’s back. “Big chair, Scully, big chair.”

\--o-0-o--

Fourth Floor, Mayer Hall  
University of California at San Diego  
Monday, 7:23 am

Andrea Rosen knocked on the closed office door of Sandra Miller, the repeated taps ringing through the solid oak door. She was just coming off a shift at the observatory. But, before she went back to Cary and a long late morning nap, followed by other relaxing activities time and distance had too often denied to her life partner and herself, she needed to check in with the Assistant Professor. She had further questions about Evans and his pension, but she was no longer an official agent of the Bureau, so could not use that as a cover to approach Jerry Donato and his Sergeant. She was hoping the chestnut-haired sister of her former boss would offer to shepherd her into the precinct to smooth the way to a successful conclusion of her investigation. She turned at the clop, clop, clop of Sandra’s cycling shoes, a sound familiar to the short-haired triathlete. 

“Hello, Doctor Rosen.” The lean professor was eyeing her from the hallway. 

Andrea turned. “Professor Miller.” She took two steps toward the older woman. “I need your help, please.” Her graduate school deference was beginning to kick back in. 

A slight twitch was all Sandra would allow to register to her face. “About?” 

“I’m looking into -” 

The Professor had held up a hand. “I’m not with the Bureau, Doctor. I don’t answer to someone’s beck and call.” 

A chuckle emerged from the brunette triathlete. “When I was in the Bureau, neither did we. Your brother saw to that. We were free to -” 

The chestnut-haired woman curled her lip in disgust. “Chase vampires? Poltergeists? Yeti, perhaps? But, criminals, hardly.” 

Andrea drew herself up to her full height. “Is that what you think we did, Professor? Waste the taxpayer’s money on impossibilities?” 

Sandra stomped to the door, flipped the lock, then yanked it open. “Let’s talk about this inside, shall we?” She nodded to the heads poked out into the hallway. “Away from prying ears.”

\--o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
Monday, 7:39 am

Andrea Rosen took in the interior of Sandra’s office. There were a few framed prints of her younger days, surrounded by colleagues and friends, including the now-deceased Tom Wilton. But, mostly, the space was that of any college professor: book-lined shelves, reprints in stacks on the lowest, a cabinet with glass doors, through which she could see data tapes, boxes of floppy disks, spare keyboards, and monitors. The Dell on the desk looked several years out of date, an observation confirmed by a quick check of the model number. Andrea noticed how comfortable, how familiar the space seemed. Like her own, she realized with a chuckle. When she heard the office door closing, she faced the chestnut-haired professor. 

“What’s so funny, Doctor Rosen?” 

The brunette triathlete shook her head. “Oh, just change the JFM’s for JAS’s and this would be my office.” 

Sandra clipped the chin strap of her bike helmet over the top bar of her carbon-fiber Specialized. “If it won’t bother you, I‘m going to get changed. I have an exam to administer in two hours. It’s just us girls, after all.” Her long hair, now free of the helmet, fell over her face as she stripped the cycling shorts into a roll on the floor. 

Andrea, determined not to stare, turned to study the texts on the nearest bookshelf. Her one glimpse had told her Sandra was as lean as her brother, if not thinner, all lanky legs and arms. “If you’re pressed for time, I can come back.” 

The sound of fabric slipping over skin stopped for a moment. “No, it’s not a problem. The exam’s all ready to go. I just have to go to class to distribute it, and be around to answer any questions, although, this is a good group of kids. I don’t think there will be any difficulties.” 

Rosen heard two shoes drop to the floor, so she felt free to turn around. “Okay, what’s bothering me is this, Professor -” 

The chestnut-haired woman held up a hand. “Please, it’s just Sandra. We’re colleagues, after all.” 

The brunette triathlete nodded. “Okay. I’m Andrea.” The two women began to relax in each other’s company, before the younger one began explaining the reason for her visit. “I know there’s a connection between Evans’s retirement funds and the firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and Whittington, but I just can’t see it.” 

Sandra pushed a wheeled chair toward Andrea with her hip before she stepped back toward her desk. “Whittington, did you say? Not Jerry’s pseudo attorney?” 

The astronomer nodded, as both remembered the angry man in a Brooks Brothers suit stalking out of Nichols’s office. “The connection is James Andrews, the art dealer, but I can’t see the chain that links them together.”

Sandra settled in her padded chair. “Okay. Start at the beginning.” She waved at the whiteboard “Use that if it helps you work through your thoughts. Maybe between the pair of us, we can work something out.” She tugged a folder with a thick stack of papers out of a top drawer. “I’ll have to stop to distribute the exam, and tell the students to come find me if there are questions, but then we can keep going, if we need to.” 

Andrea smiled, genuinely. “I appreciate that.” She opened her backpack to pull out her own documents. “Also. please keep this under your hat. Right now, it’s just a whisper of a case, not even anything concrete enough that your brother would take it seriously.” 

The hazel darkened. “I’ll deal with him another time.” A long hand waved. “Go on.” 

The triathlete uncapped a black marker, then capped it again. “Sandra, please, don’t take this the wrong way, but, he’s not what you’re thinking he is.” She began pacing, as she had so often seen him do. “He’s not a flake or a kook. We collected so much evidence, between his pushing and Scully’s cataloging, we actually got a real case, a significant case, one we could take to court and that we won.” 

The Professor snorted. “Yeah.” She rapped on the desk with the knuckles of her right hand. “So, Andrews. Lay it on me.” She swung both feet up on the papers on her desk, crossed them at the ankles, then interlaced her fingers behind her long curls. 

Andrea sighed. It would do no good to point out that sister and brother was equally stubborn, equally devoted to their own truths. _Best to just take it one step at a time._ She knew how insane what she had seen, had collected evidence of, had prepared for a jury, would sound to someone who had not experienced it. Perhaps, with time, she could help win Sandra over on the question of Fox William Mulder, but it would not be today. Resolved, she turned to the board to begin diagramming.

\--o-0-o--

on the Fourteenth Street Bridge  
Potomac River  
Monday, 8:45 am

Mulder glanced to the right, where Scully was scribbling intently on a pad on her lap. “We spooked them.” 

The pen stopped moving. “Or, they want us to think that.” 

He released a loud breath. “Scully, don’t tell me you don’t think they’re - “ 

“Real?” She screwed the cap back on the pen. “Mulder, I know they resonated with your experiences with your father, and that’s not something I’m discounting, at all.” She watched a sculling team, working its way against the current, before turning to look back at him. “I don’t know what to tell you. I had wanted to get them authenticated, so we could be certain.” Flipping through several pages, she sighed. “We both agreed in this determination, back with the D’Amato papers. We needed the digital and physical media. Without the actual pages of the notebooks, we would never have found our way to Africa, never would have learned what we did about the shape-shifters.”

Since they were stopped at a light, he twisted against the shoulder belt to face her. “Scully, but is it worth your job? ” 

She eyed him soberly. “Mulder, what would you do? Would you walk away from everything we’ve built up, everything we could do? We will still have the digital copies. We’ll work with the Guys to see that those are distributed, and encrypted, so the information won’t be lost.” 

He was worrying his lower lip between his teeth when there was a quick blap behind them, so he accelerated from his space. “I don’t know, Scully. We work better together, not apart. We know that now. What?” 

She tapped the capped end of her thick black pen on the papers twice. “Mulder, they only want the boxes back, right?” 

He pointed his chin at the folder on her lap as they moved along. “They want all notes and documents, I thought you said. They’ve completely ignored the possibility of digital versions. They didn’t make that mistake with the transportation document.” 

Her forehead furrowed deeply. “Yes, odd, that. Like they expect us to do all the work of analysis for them, then either reclaim the information or discredit everything, since we don’t have the physical documents, if they’re real.” Her breath escaped in a slight huff. “I think I see a way out, here, Mulder.” 

The Hunter’s light gleamed. “Do tell, Doctor.” 

She wrestled a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “This is a binary choice: Either the documents are fakes, planted to distract us, or they’re real, and they want them back so we can’t pursue the information inside.” 

He waggled his long fingers. “Or just some are fakes, Scully.”

She tossed her head. “Door number three, Mulder?” 

“There’s always a door number three, Magister Acutus.”

“So, we turn over all the documents in their boxes, as we received them.” She flipped open the pad, unscrewed the cap from the pen, then drew out a three by three grid of ragged squares. “You can thank Rosen for these.” She tilted her head. Across the top she printed in large block letters, “All real, some real, all fakes.” Down the left-hand side, she wrote, “Turn over all, turn over some, turn over none.” She poked the top left square, leaving a black dot behind. “Turn over them all, and we lose what additional information we can gather from the physical media, in all three cases.” 

He nodded. “We’ve both accepted that, real or fake.”

“So, turn over none, and I’m your own Paul Drake, handling the legwork while you do the deep thinking.” She cocked an auburn brow at his quick glance. “I have to pay rent somehow, Mulder. I can’t just become a freelance pathologist.” 

He cast a lop-sided grin toward her. “But with better brains. And legs.” 

“Hum.” She wiggled the tip of the pen in the bottom left square. “They’re real, we keep them all, and we’ve got a problem on our hands. We’ll be having to protect these documents, all of them. They never demanded the D’Amato papers, and those were real. Same for some real.”

He waggled his fingers. “Also for all fakes.” Since they were sitting at another of Alexandria’s lights, he poked at the grid on the paper. “There’s an axis we’ve forgotten, Scully.” 

Both auburn eyebrows drew together. “Oh?” 

He chuckled. “I did take in a logic lecture or two at Oxford, Doctor Subtilis.” They exchanged a glance. “We don’t know that they know what’s in them. If our arrival prevented them from removing the boxes, then they don’t. But-” 

She took up the explanation. “If they were planted for us to find, then they do.”

He grinned loopily. Although his partner never considered herself anything more than an assembler of evidence, when she focused on their problems with all her intellect, she could see patterns just as well as he. At times, such as when she had been recovering from the D’Amato case, or when they had been investigating the archaea-bacterium and the shape shifters, she had. But, her pervading sense of inferiority kept her from fully developing those facets of her intelligence. Perhaps, one day, he could help her move beyond her self-imposed limitations.

She threw him one of her full-wattage smiles. “Okay.” She drew two more grids on the page, with “They know” and “They don’t know” written as super-titles. “If they know what’s in them, then we have no choice but to return them all, regardless of whether they’re real or fakes. Otherwise, they’ll know we kept some and keep coming after us.” 

“But if they don’t know, then there’s no benefit to returning them all or keeping them all.” 

She tapped the middle square on the third grid. “There’s something testable here, Mulder. We can know whether they know, if we,” 

They concluded together, “Keep some of them.” 

He turned onto the Gunmen’s street. “Okay. We have a plan.” 

She began tucking her papers away in her case. “And, we know *His*, Mulder.”

\--o-0-o--

Fourth Floor Computer Laboratory  
Whisperhill Research  
Beltsville, MD  
Monday, 9:03 am

After a beep, the red light on the badge reader flipped to green, so ‘Charlie’ followed ‘Ace’ through the wide opening. He searched around her cluttered lab for a clear spot for the HP scanner, sighing when she shifted a pile of documents onto the floor under a table. “Lisa, how can you know what you have up here? Is this why you were in the Lab all weekend?” 

She waved at the tabletop. “Drew, don’t start on me. We agreed I had to keep our apartment tidy, so I keep my computers here, with just a laptop in the bedroom, but, work is work. I have the freedom to be myself here.” 

He closed his eyes momentarily. Whether that liberality came with their new jobs, or from their old boss, was not something he wanted to contemplate. “Honey, let’s not fight. I’m just happy we’re still together.” He slid the scanner onto the bare surface. 

She crossed her lab to reach for a surge-protected power strip on an upper shelf. “Ah, that’s too high.” After shoving another stack of documents off the seat of a chair, she slid it over to step onto the flat cushion. She was yanking at the six-outlet plug-in box when she felt a pair of hands on her ribs. “It’s okay, I can do this.” 

He dropped his arms. “I just wanted to help.” 

While wrapping the power cord around the yellowed Isobar body, she stepped down. “I know you do, Drew.” She emptied the contents of her hands onto the seat, then wrapped her arms around his neck. “We’re alone, at least for a few minutes.” They found each other’s lips, then held each other through several long exchanges. 

He had slid one hand under her shirt to rub her spine. “Lisa.” His eyes had narrowed to slits. “We could go home, take a day. It’s summer.” His fingers moved around to her stomach. 

She took several deep breaths as his palm found its target. “That would be good. My code is probably still running, and, I could use some downtime.” 

The chime of the elevator had them separating, she tucking her green polo shirt back in her pleat-fronted khakis. 

An arch of a grey brow greeted them as the Smoker and Luther stepped out. “So, my young friends, what new wonders did you discover over the weekend?” The old spy left unspecified what investigations they might have pursued. 

Luther eyed ‘Charlie’ significantly. Apparently, the younger man had taken his advice seriously. “We have some news you both need to hear.” 

‘Ace’ stepped forward. “What news might that be?”

The old spy searched around for an uncluttered seat, finally pulling one out from beneath a table, that was piled high with keyboards, behind him. “A missing piece is back on the board, so I need to inform the three of you of my plans.” 

All thoughts of a day off banished, the lovers found chairs to set themselves in a loose square, the Smoker and Luther facing them. “Who is it?” Still slightly breathless, ‘Charlie’ was flushed. 

The grey head turned from one to the other. “Alex Krycek has resurfaced. He has cast his lot with some old adversaries.” He held up a long-range surveillance photograph, showing a dark-haired man pacing around a platform with a large white H painted on it. 

The brown-haired woman snorted. “I thought you had eliminated all of those.” 

Luther shook his head. “Not the Forty. They’re too prominent.” 

‘Charlie’ leaned forward. “Who?” 

The old spy fingered the paper box in his jacket pocket. “Not as themselves, of course. The existence of the Forty is known only to a few. But, each member, in his or her individual life, is a distinguished individual of his or her respective countries. For one to have an accident, that would not raise an alarm, since most are of advanced years. But, for forty prominent politicians, legislators, and scholars to suddenly expire, well, that would take us back to the days of Stalin.” 

The slender woman began circling the chairs. “So, what? Can they hurt us? Can they out us without outing themselves?” 

A grimace that at one time would have been a genuine smile crossed the wrinkled features. “You have put your finger on the matter as usual, Amanda.” A cocked eyebrow was aimed at ‘Charlie,’ who had been watching his lover track by the scanner. “I’m surprised and saddened your training has been forgotten.” 

The portly man waved a thick hand. “No forgotten, just discarded. The Forty are of the past, and we need to be thinking about the future, with these - “ 

The old spy issued a frustrated snort. “As a very wise man once said, the Past isn’t dead; it isn’t even Past, as you shall see.” He had risen to his feet as well. “Have you forgotten everything I taught you?” 

‘Charlie’ shook his head. “Okay, so why is *this* Past so important right now? I’m with Lisa. What can they do to us?” 

The thump of an age-spotted fist against the opposing palm brought ‘Ace’ back to his side. “How do you know all this?” 

He waved her back to her seat. “Bill Mulder had insinuated his way into their fellowship shortly after the end of the Second World War, as a security measure. They were one of the groups we had discovered during that conflict. One of our own is inside their organization, has been for decades. He sent me this information just this morning. Two members of the Forty have been lost, and they are looking to replenish their numbers. One of those lost had ties to Bill Mulder, which brings this very much into the present.” He eyed the three others. “The remaining seat is of greatest significance. She was the guiding force behind the efforts the Forty had been pursuing over the past four decades. She had them concentrating on world educational efforts and promoting democracy.” He grunted softly. “Her nobility was her downfall; she worked too many long hours to help those she considered in need, and it shortened her life. With her replacement not yet determined, we can move to weaken or remove the power their group had.” 

‘Ace’ nodded. “When they are neutralized, we can turn our attentions back to stabilizing our own Organization. So, what does Krycek want with them?” 

Luther shifted on his seat. “Revenge, of course. What else has that spoiled child ever wanted? He thinks everything should come to him without having to work for it. According to our source, he wanted to become one of the Forty. He is more than qualified, by the antiquarian standards they value, but at least one of their number is an astute judge of character and saw through his act. So, he’s angling for power along a different avenue.” 

‘Charlie’ crossed his arms over his generous stomach. “So, he wants revenge on the Forty. Why? Because they wouldn’t promote him?” 

The old spy rolled his eyes. His young protege was entirely besotted with ‘Ace’; his otherwise excellent powers of observation were proving useless. “The Forty are just a means to an end.” He glared, waiting for the conclusions to appear. 

“Ah.” ‘Charlie’ nodded. “He wants revenge on us, you mean. And, the FBI, I presume?” 

A grimace crossed the lined face. “Indeed. I had been wondering about the losses of our new operatives, and I believe we have our answer.”

The brunette walked back to her chair to sit. “You really think Alex has become that powerful?” She ignored the stiffening she sensed from the three men at the use of his first name.

Aged fingers waved the question away. “Powerful, possibly. The MJ tape provides endless opportunities for blackmail, if used properly. But, intelligence to execute that revenge and not get himself killed in the process? I’m afraid Krycek has been given too much credit over the years. He must be working with or through someone else who understands these games better than he.”

Luther shifted to catch the old spy’s attention. “Speaking of intelligent, when will we get our hands on the documents Mulder and Scully took into their possession?” 

The grey head dipped in a knowing nod. “Now there, I have devised a two-pronged attack. There are still allies inside the Bureau, as hard as Director Skinner has worked to root them out. He is expecting our operatives to be small and subversive, not to occupy positions of power that we can manipulate with fear and innuendo.” 

‘Ace’ chuckled. “You don’t say. Pulling him out of mothballs will be a treat to watch. He could always turn Mulder inside out with a few words.” 

‘Charlie’ tapped his knee. “So, you’re activating the old stand-by: make him obsess over his partner by putting her in distress? Another abduction?” 

Long fingers rooted around in the jacket pocket again. “Exactly. Director Skinner and he have been foolish enough to permit her an entirely earned promotion. Further, Director Freeh has taken it into his head to give her a commendation for her actions during the Alexandria courthouse bombing. That, too, is recognition long overdue. But, now, the three of them need to be cut down a notch. For that, I will have to activate an old tool of mine, one I haven’t had to use since before Agent Scully so foolishly engaged Albert Hosteen.” 

The three stared at each other, wondering whom he meant. 

Without acknowledging their interchange, the old spy drew back into himself. “Oh, he thinks he is in charge, this one, that others bow to his will. He sits in the darkness, believing himself to be clever because he tries to offer incoherent and contradictory answers to questions no one is asking, but he is not.” The dark eyes emitted a predatory gleam as he shook his head. “The fool is just executing my will.” 

‘Charlie’ and ‘Ace’ exchanged a glance. The old man was speaking in riddles not even they understood. “Are we permitting Mulder and Scully to keep knowledge of the contents of the documents?” The question emerged with a squeak as ‘Charlie’ tried to bring the conversation back on track.

“Yes, we are.” The old spy nodded proudly. “They will engage themselves in more heroics than the situation will require, but, eventually, that will only lead them, sooner or later, to the Forty. If we enmesh two of our opponents in conflict with each other, then we are more free to proceed as we wish.” A grimace twisted his features. “All in all, a good day for our side, finally.” 

The four exchanged glances, some smiling, some somber.

\--o-0-o--

Offices of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Monday, 9:53 am

Dana Scully was the first of the partners through the door. After a quick nod to Pendrell and Phillips, who were waiting on the sofa together, she turned to Frohike, who was standing with a hand on the second of four deadbolt levers. “We need a cryptographically secure random number generator for these new documents.” 

Mulder rested his palm on her back as he slid past her into the room, leaning over to whisper so only the three of them could hear. “You really know the way to a guy’s heart, Doctor.” 

The round-faced Gunman beamed. “That she does, Mulder.” 

Langly had begun typing furiously as the auburn-haired pathologist crossed into the workshop, Frohike trailing behind her. “So, Doc, what will it be, Monte-Carlo, Blum Blum Shub, or, my personal favorite, the Mersenne Twister?” 

She crossed her arms as she leaned against the butcher-block. “Whatever works best with small numbers. We don’t need to go higher than the number of crates in your secure facility.” 

Byers joined them, the Gunmen forming a loose triangle around the Agent. “Okay. We can use three pseudo-random seeds. One will get us to the exponent with normalization, one the mantissa, and one for whether we floor or ceiling the rounding.” 

Scully was tapping the icon of the documents database on the screen. “We’ll need to do it twice, once for box number and once for the number of the document inside each of the crates.” 

“Ooh!” Three male voices chorused. 

She looked up at the brush on her shoulder. “Mulder?” 

He cocked his head toward the living room, so she turned to step away. “Carry on, Guys.” 

Byers shifted to give her room. “That we will, Agent Scully.” 

She tossed back. “Not Agent, not until tomorrow, at least.” 

The keyboard fell silent. “Doc? What do you mean?” 

Her shoulders slumped. “I’ve had my badge and weapon seized until we turn over the crates, and all their contents.” 

The partners suddenly found themselves surrounded, the Gunmen clustered behind, while their two agents hovered before them. 

Arthur Pendrell, his green eyes darkening, stood directly in front of her. “Dana, when did this happen to you?” 

Mulder edged closer to her shoulder. “We just came from the meeting with Blevins.” 

Terry Phillips reached for her arm. “Ag-, Doctor Scully, why? What could you possibly have done to bring this on?” 

She blew out a breath. “I gave them an excuse, with the events of the Courthouse bombing.” 

The bearded Gunman moved to her side. “But, you nearly died yourself! What could be so important in these decades-old documents that they take your badge?” 

She turned in a half-circle, taking in the concerned faces around her. _I really do have friends._ “Guys, that’s what we need to find out. That’s why we needed the random number generator.” She and Mulder quickly explained the plan they had worked out, concluding with, “We have to be certain the digital copies of the papers we turn over are exact replicas of both levels of text. Exact. We won’t be able to consult them again.” She met Terry’s frown. “Sorry to throw you in the middle of this, Agent Phillips. We were assuming we had more time, but, with the forces stacked against us, we have learned we have to move quickly.” She looked up at her partner. “Mulder, there’s something we need to discuss.”

\--o-0-o--

Offices of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Monday, 9:58 am

A click as the latch of the guest bedroom door engaged. The auburn-haired pathologist had pulled out the ottoman to sit, while her partner remained standing. 

He leaned against the desk, nestled as close to her knees as he could settle without touching her. “Okay, Scully, shoot.” 

She studied her hands for a moment before meeting his gaze, focused and curious, partly amused. “We need to turn over *all* the documents in the box with the single level of text on them, including the one that seemed to trigger a reaction in you, Mulder.” 

He slipped over to the bed to twist onto the mattress, resting his hands on the raised mahogany foot-board. “*He* knows what’s in that crate specifically, so there’s no point in causing a false positive if we can avoid it. Is that what you’re saying?” 

Relieved he had seen through to the conclusion she had reached to agree, she nodded. “It’s the others we’re unsure of, not that one.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I just hate to ask you to give away a piece of your Father that brought you two closer. Mom won’t let me read Ahab’s journals, and I wanted to at least be able to touch the little bit of him remaining.” 

He shook his head. “That’s okay. There’s no question in my mind, between my Dad and you, whom I need to hang onto.” They held each others gaze for a quiet moment, before he stood while extending his long fingers toward the entrance. “Let’s get to it, once and future G-woman.”

\--o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
Monday, 6:13 pm

Andrea waited for the woman behind the desk to speak. The stack of completed exams lay untouched in front of Sandra, but her arms were crossed as she frowned at the diagrams and phrases on the whiteboard. 

After digging a green marker out of her desk drawer, the chestnut-haired professor rose. “Okay. I think I see the problem here.” She moved slowly, almost in a stroll, to the whiteboard. “May I?” Her hand was extended, so Rosen took a step back. “We’re missing links-” She circled names. “-here, here, and here.” She capped the marker. “Once we have data on the art deals, we can fill in the pieces, but we don’t have those right now.” She returned to the desk. “Take what we learned here back to you former partner at the Bureau. Let’s see what your bright boys and girls can come up with.” 

Andrea Rosen nodded. “Okay. That’ll be a start. Thank you, Sandra.” All through the morning and afternoon, she had held her tongue as she noted similarity after similarity with Fox Mulder: the leaps, the impatience, the deep concern she had shown for the one student who had tracked them down, uncertain how to address the second question. She had had a different interpretation of two of the sentences in the problem set-up. While she knew the answer she was supposed to give, she also understood there was different conclusion that could be reached. Sandra had been thrilled, offering extra credit for seeing differently, for not simply regurgitating the expected solution, which had sent the student away, smiling. That, alone, convinced Andrea there was hope for a positive outcome. 

But, now, Sandra was finally beginning to grade the exams. She looked up one last time. “Thank you, Andrea. This was different, and fun. Let’s not be strangers, all right?” 

A familiar lop-sided grin spread over the professor’s features, so Rosen nodded. She would update Nic at his place tonight, then, probably many hours later, crawl in bed with Carey. She didn’t have time on the telescope, so they could both sleep in.

\--o-0-o--

I-495  
Northern Virginia  
Tuesday, June 9, 1998  
7:38 am

Terry Phillips yawned as the Subaru rolled off King Street onto the ramp for the inner loop of the Beltway. “That was interesting, Art. No wonder you like working with those two. I didn’t know how much they both knew about Renaissance history. I honestly could have listened to her discuss it with him for hours.” 

Rubbing his eyes, he nodded. “Yeah, I know. She’s constantly reading, on almost any number of subjects you could imagine, some of them really obscure. She feels a little awed by his Oxford education and all those quick intuitive jumps of his, while she was in various Maryland state colleges working her nose-to-the-grindstone way through. She tries to read enough to keep up, she told me once.” 

She yawned again. “Oh, she shouldn’t feel like that. Anytime she would offer up some arcane nugget to make those documents make some sense as we read, you could see he just drank it all in, as if she were offering him the best presents he’s ever received. He doesn’t seem that happy, most of the time, but when they were debating, you could see his eyes light up.” 

He shifted under the seatbelt. “Terry, you have to understand. They always find the strangest stuff that needs analysis, the both of them, that’s not run-of-the mill Bureau work. Dana could do a lot of the testing herself, which she does when they’re in the field, but, when they’re in DC, she doesn’t, at least most of the time.” 

Her turn signal clicking, Phillips eased her long-nosed Legacy into the leftmost lane, then back to the right after she passed a concrete truck, the engine grinding as it lumbered up a rise. They drove along in silence for a few miles, crossing the Potomac into Maryland. The mid-June Sun was high enough not to have them blinking and frowning as they traveled. Once the riverbank interchanges were past, she picked up the conversation again. “I know. She’s great in the lab, but, then, she wouldn’t be there for her partner. I’ve never seen two people who work like that, as if they know what each other is thinking, almost.” 

He eyed her. “You weren’t around a couple of years ago. Back when you were still down in the Charleston office, shortly after they started working together, he had arranged to have a desk moved into the basement for her. I thought, that’s it, we’ll never see her on the second floor again. But, suddenly, after we had all been told he had died, she stopped coming in to work. Then, her sister dies, we learn they were both reinstated in the Bureau, and she’s back working with us most of the time, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. We could hear them, up and down the halls of the second floor, in front of her old office, just howling at each other. I really expected Skinner to reassign one of them to Fairbanks.” 

Her dark eyebrows drew together. “You were hoping it would be him?” 

Reaching across the seat, he lifted her right fingers off the steering wheel to entwine them with his left. “Honey, don’t start that. I’m marrying *you* on Saturday. Besides, that’s not who they are. It took me a while to work that, out, too.” 

She shook her head. “No, it took me all of five minutes.” After shifting to the left again, she glanced over. “Which is why I didn’t approach you for the longest time. I couldn’t believe she would turn somebody as smart and as funny and as nice as you down, when you were the best thing she could have had. But, I’m glad she did.” 

He sighed, not yet ready to tell her the reasons why. “Not the only one in the car who feels that way, Ter.” He resumed holding her palm. “So, being in their section, you’ll be okay with that?” 

She glanced to her left at a speeding Lexus SUV, jostling to get into the lanes for I-270. “Yes, actually, It’ll be fun. A lot of hard work, but, fun.” Extracting her hand from his, she rubbed her face again. “I’ve got to get some sleep, just an hour or two, before we head in to the Hoover Building. Even the Gunmen looked like they wanted the documenting to be done. But, then, he goes out and rents that van, and those two did nearly all of the packing while we were still checking notebooks over against the scans. Why aren’t they exhausted?” 

Pendrell remembered the ashen-faced woman, barely functional, carefully DNA testing her family as he watched. “Who’s to say they aren’t, Ter. They were just doing what they had to do. They always do.” Wanting to change the subject, he cleared his throat. “Terry?” 

Her jaw set. She knew what that tone of voice meant. “Yes, Arthur?” 

“I did it.” 

She frowned. “Did what?” The question came out in a growl.

“I-got-my-helicopter-pilot’s-license.” He gulped. 

She glanced over. “Oh?” _Why does he think that would bother me?_ “I didn’t know you would have the time to do that.” She wiggled her fingers on the steering wheel. “It’ll make it easier if we want to find some out of the way spot on Maui for a couple of days, just you and me.” 

They giggled together. That they were taking a whole month off, starting Sunday, had them both anticipating an eternity of earthly delights. But, her concentration was pulled away from the future to the immediate present. They were approaching their Georgia Avenue exit, so she began shifting right again.

\--o-0-o--

outside Room 110A  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 9:53 am

The hall door closed behind the partners, shutting out the noise of visitors, deliveries, and the chatter of agents greeting each other as they arrived to start their workday or attend meetings. Scully was clipping on her visitor’s badge as she walked. “Mulder, I haven’t had to do this since returning from New Mexico.” Only one door lay ahead of them in the alcove they were walking through, into the hearing room neither wished to enter. 

He was bent carefully over her shoulder. “With luck, you won’t have to for the rest of your time in the X-Files, Scully.” He glanced toward the single door in the space. Beside it, a grey-bearded man, wearing a tailored suit as dark as theirs, whose tall head nearly reached the tiles of the low drop ceiling, was leaning on a cane. “Stone? What are you doing here?” 

The long-faced attorney nodded to both of the agents. “Your Director contacted me last night. I had given the Bureau a statement on ever’thing that happened during the bombing once, but he strongly hinted Ah might be needed again.” He took the auburn-haired pathologist’s hand to raise it to just below his lips. “He implied we would need verification of your sterling conduct, Dayna Katherine.” He rubbed her fingers with his thumb for an instant before releasing them. “The thought that as fine a lady as yourself would need a witness to testify once, let alone twice, to her character is shocking, simply shocking, to this Southern Gentleman. My opinion of the Bureau is significantly diminished that they would question the worth of an officer with your many strengths. Significantly diminished.” 

Feeling their dark moods lighten, the partners exchanged a glance. Mulder extended his hand, seeing it engulfed in his friend’s. “Stone, this is really a formality. We have what they want in a rented van in the underground parking.” 

The sight of the dark circles under their eyes elicited a sigh from the face hovering above. “Ah suspect this is a bit of chicanery they’re trying to pull over on your most excellent selves?” 

Scully nodded. “Exactly that, Jarred. But, it is good to see you again. How is Elizabeth?” 

“As lovely as evah, thank you for asking, Dayna.” 

A crack of paint separating from paint ended the conversation as the door opened behind them, then Chief Blevins let out a huff. “This way, please.”

\--o-0-o--

Room 110A  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 9:59 am

The room was crowded with men in dark suits, all soberly tracking the entrance of the three. Mulder and Scully settled beside each other toward the front of the room, Director Skinner already positioned two seats closer to Blevins. Jarred Stone found a free spot in a corner at the back, the better to stretch his long legs, or, Scully suspected, to stage dramatic rambles up and down in front of the narrow line of chairs. A slight, grey-haired woman in a plain blue suit was clacking at a court recorder’s typewriter in the far corner, ignoring the rest of the occupants as she prepared her transcript documents. The ages of the examiners were evident in the dark and white heads that bobbed, as papers were shuffled, throats cleared, coffee cups drained. A thin man in a black suit and tie, his blond hair almost as white as his shirt, waited, motionless, at the other end of the table, not more than five feet from Jarred Stone. 

Blevins rapped an I-shaped weighted gavel, without a handle, on a granite disk once. “All quiet, please. This hearing to determine the fitness of Doctor Dana Katherine Scully to return to duty as a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and as the co-head of the X-Files East Section, is hereby called to order.” He turned to the bespectacled, grey-haired Director to his right. “You may begin your interrogation, Sir.” 

“I have questions,” the man in the black suit interrupted. “Questions for *Miss* Scully about her behavior that take precedence over his.” He waved at the head of the table vaguely. 

Mulder began fidgeting. “What is the meaning of this, Sir? Is *Agent* Scully being charged with an ethics violation? Seriously?” 

Several raps silenced the murmuring before the round-faced Chief chastised, “Agent Mulder, you were warned yesterday not to disrupt the proceedings.” He closed the brown folder in front of him, its contents identical to those delivered to X-Files East the previous day. “Continue, please, Mister Fitzberwen.” 

Noting the V on the badge clipped to the blond man’s lapel, Director Skinner partially rose off his seat. “What? This man isn’t even with the Bureau? Isn’t there sufficient legal representation with all the lawyers in our own agency?” 

There was no dampening the protests that erupted. For an outsider to be involved in a decision-making capacity during a purely administrative Bureau matter was unthinkable. 

But, it was Fitzberwen’s voice that rose above the rest. “*Miss* Scully, why have you abandoned your oath to the American people?” 

The tall agent could no longer contain himself, rising to stalk halfway down the table. “Forgotten her oath? What are your accusations?” He was standing over Fitzberwen. “What are you insinuating? What are you saying *Agent* Scully has done?” 

Snarling, Fitzberwen pushed his chair aside, bringing his cold blue gaze level with the dark-haired man’s hooded eyes. “*Miss* Scully, when she was assigned to the X-Files, was charged with assessing the veracity of your work, Agent Mulder.” He glared at the auburn-haired pathologist. “But, it seems, if she has been promoted to your equal, she is no longer fulfilling her mandate. You were never given further direction, were you, *Miss* Scully? What did you feel gave you the right to overstep your orders, to take matters into your own hands?” 

She lifted her chin, fixing him in her sternest gaze. “Sir, with respect, the investigations loosely referred to as X-Files are of a unique and challenging character. While much we have seen remains unsubstantiated, we have a high case solution rate, 82%, far above the Bureau average for the crimes we investigate. Agent Mulder and I have been assembling clear, incontrovertible evidence supporting the cases we have pursued over the past two and a half years. We have put in public light records of that conspiracy of silence going back to the Second World War we uncovered in the Strughold Mine. We have been decorated by the Mexican government for our efforts in Chiapas. Our section has been augmented by several other agents, one of whom is leading up the X-Files West Section in San Diego, and one of whom is advising us from her current position as faculty at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. We have documented the existence of extraterrestrials on this planet, beings with six-base DNA, facts that are leading to new scientific horizons for all humanity. We have exposed and discredited the Organization attempting to contain and suppress that knowledge.” 

“X-Files East? West? What *else* is going in here?” The blond man was in front of her, ignoring the tall agent growling by his elbow. “Did you fall prey to his delusions and expect to be rewarded? What do you think you would have earned next, promotion to be Assistant Director Scully of the X-Files? As if any woman would be good enough to take a leadership role here, in any capacity whatsoever.” 

Enraged, Mulder’s chest was heaving. He opened his mouth, prepared to shout his objections.

But the bespectacled Assistant Director spoke first, the glacial quiet belying his roiling anger. “Agent Scully has earned her place, Sir, in more ways than I can enumerate at this hearing.” He slid his chair into the narrow aisle, rising, with his elbows held away from his body, blocking Fitzberwen on the left, while Mulder glowered on his right. “Are you working with *Him*, is that it? Is that why you were brought here? I thought I had rooted all of *His* minions out of the Agency last month.” 

The blond man emitted a low, feral sound. “What? Be someone else’s tool? Never. I have authority here.” He glared down at the auburn-haired pathologist. “Don’t you recognize it? Can’t you feel it?” 

“Sir!” Her fists clenched, Scully rose. “I am a scientist, not a defender of conventional wisdom. I follow the evidence, wherever it may lead. Not all that is real is known, or understood, which is why I could no longer simply comment on what I saw, but began active participation in the investigations.” She slid one foot forward, then the other, until Fitzberwen was backed against the seat of the white-haired official behind him. “I am a Medical Doctor with a specialty in pathology and a Field Agent in this Bureau, Sir, trained and certified to pursue and resolve criminal investigations and insure the welfare and safety of the people of this nation. To that have I given my word, as sincerely as I took my Hippocratic oath.”

A snort of derision escaped him. “Your word? Women’s words are worthless, stale air!” The blond man threw both hands over his head, intentionally waving one so close to her face she blanched, but did not blink. “Your job-” He wagged his finger at her nose. “-was to follow *him* around.” The digit was whipped at Mulder, then he was shaking it at her again. “You were supposed to write reports, *not* gather evidence, *not* develop proofs, and most certainly *not* give standing to your cases in the eyes of the rest of the world! Not thinking! Not investigating! Someone like *you* is incapable of any of that!” 

The sounds of chairs scraping, as several of the committee began objecting, pulled Fitzberwen’s focus away from the unyielding trio. 

As he looked around the room, he crossed his arms. “Obviously, there is something seriously amiss here in the Federal Bureau of Investigations. That this juncture has been reached, that the X-Files have become what they are, taken seriously, given worth, expanded, is simply and utterly wrong. It’s not the plan.” He glared down at the auburn-haired agent. “It was all due to you, *Miss* Scully, *you* who have walked a long, disobedient path over the years.” He bent into her slender face. “You, especially you, were never intended to be anything, or anyone, at all, except in one way, little woman. It was never to be your mind that counted for anything.” His cold blue eyes dropped significantly to her stomach, then he growled with glee as she turtled her shoulders before sinking back onto the metal seat. 

Mulder edged between his partner and Fitzberwen, his proximity forcing the blond man up against the bald Director, who refused to take a step back. “Sir, I don’t know who you are, or why Agent Scully specifically is such a threat to you or to the people you represent, but, you need to understand: her intellect, her dedication to our joint work, her deep loyalty to the standards of the Bureau, are vital to the successes we have had. If you, for whatever deluded, antiquated reason, consider that only words spoken by a male have worth, then hear mine. I want no other partner, Sir.” 

Fitzberwen rammed his knuckles against Mulder’s chest. “Partners? You think you’re *partners* in this? Equals? You think she has significant insights that bring standing to your cases?” 

Stunned by the tirade, Mulder could only respond with a whispered, “Always.” 

The soft answer merely enraged the blond man further. “What? You think her search for evidence is as valuable or revelatory as your intuition?” Mulder’s single nod and rising eyebrows had him leaning forward until they were nose to nose. “No, *you* don’t understand. Women. Don’t. Have. Brains.” Each of the last four words were punctuated with a finger jab, amid the vociferous protests rising around them. “It’s time we dropped this pretense. I-”

“All right, I’ve heard enough.” The deep, almost inaudible, growl cast the room into silence. The Assistant Director spoke directly into Fitzberwen’s ear. “This isn’t an administrative hearing, this is a witch-hunt.” He glared over his shoulder at Blevins. “Sir, if this is your doing, I would respectfully suggest you have taken on more than the Federal Bureau of Investigations. You have challenged the express will of a sitting United States Senator, who has been a friend and ally of this Agency for many, many years. Is that your intent?” 

The round-faced Chief’s mouth worked, but there was only silence. 

Skinner’s eyes, dark behind the lenses, narrowed at Blevins. “Are you *still* working for *Him*, Sir? Is *He* pulling your strings, the reason for this sham?” Turning to Fitzberwen, who had twisted in the slight opening provided, the Assistant Director bared his teeth in the blond man’s face, then, with his jaw locked, rumbled, “Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave. This is an official hearing of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. If you do not remove yourself, there are guards who will be called to escort you from these headquarters.” 

Fitzberwen began pushing past the bald man. “I’ve seen enough here. Insubordination and incompetence are running rampant in what was once the finest law enforcement agency in the world.” He had cleared a path to the exit, but leaned into Scully’s face one last time. “Women with authority! Taken seriously! Here! This will not be allowed to stand!” 

Before she could react, he balled his fingers into a fist, then drove his hand deep into her stomach, doubling her over his arm. “I’ve watched you for years, *Miss* Scully, your nose buried in books, scribbling away in labs and lecture halls, as if you, a woman, were entitled to a life of thought. You were to have been the perfect vessel. I plucked you out of Quantico the day your residency ended to send your jacketed, pant-suited self to the Hoover Building. But, this is how you repay my efforts.” He grabbed her by both shoulders to begin shaking her violently. “You think your intellect matters? It doesn’t. The only important part of Dana Scully is gone, so no reason for you to exist. I will destroy you utterly.” Stunned, she could only repel him with a heel to his crotch as she gasped and shivered. Sinking to his knees, he grabbed her by the hair to fling her to the carpet beside him. His rage at her assault drove him to pummel her jaw with both fists. She threw up her arms to ward off the blows. Another punch shoved into her gut before he straddled her, bouncing his whole weight on her abdomen. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she tried to force him off her with both arms. He wrapped both hands around her neck, then started to push down. She let out a choking cough while she reached up to grab his head and jam her thumbs into his cold blue eyes. He shouted at the pressure, then tried to work free of her hands. She twisted, setting him off-balance, letting her begin to shift his weight off her abdomen. 

His own training kicking in, Mulder had his arms around Fitzberwen’s waist to drag him off his partner. “Scully! Talk to me!” 

She was still shaking from the unexpected attack. “Mulder! I’m okay.” She forced the answer out over a clenched jaw. 

The tall agent threw the blond man roughly into the Assistant Director’s arms, then carefully lifted Scully to her feet. “Are you sure?” One long limb curled around her slight shoulders as he bent forward to check her green-blue eyes, while her teeth chattered from the pain and shock. 

Fitzberwen pulled himself free from Skinner. “Enough! I’ve seen enough!” His arms wrapped around himself, he forced his way through the officials in the aisle, elbowed the door open, then staggered through. 

The bald director looked both his agents over. Several fresh bruises were beginning to redden Scully’s face, but she was breathing more easily, standing, her partner hovering over her, so he ran out after Fitzberwen. _Scully gave him as good as she got, so, he can’t be moving that fast._ But, the narrow, doorless corridor stood empty. He stepped through to the main hall. 

A seated African-American guard looked over at him quizzically. “Sir? Are the proceedings done already?” 

Astounded, Skinner faced the uniformed officer. “Did you see a blond man in a black suit come through this door? He would have been doubled over, staggering.” 

More blinking. “No, Sir. Why, what happened?” 

The Assistant Director took off his glasses. “Have you heard anything in there?” He pointed back toward Room 110A. 

“No, Sir. Nothing.” 

Suddenly spent, he leaned against the wall. “Very well.” The blond man might as well have disappeared into a wormhole. Whoever Fitzberwen was, there was no tracking him now, not with more pressing matters to be attended. 

“Okay, Sir.” The guard returned to the crossword in the Post. 

When Skinner reentered, the hearing room was in utter chaos. The assembled officials and administrators were shouting, pointing, and arguing. The Director checked his agents. Scully had resumed her seat, where her partner was kneeling in front of her, his long fingers wrapped around her upper arms, his eyes locked on hers. As he watched, she took a deep breath, then nodded at a question Mulder asked her, so the tall agent settled beside her, while she tried to smooth down her hair and her suit jacket. 

Blevins was wide-eyed, motionless, his jaw slack. The Assistant Director took the gavel from his nerveless fingers to pound the granite disk three times. The room quieted. 

Stone’s deep baritone rang out in the silence. “That man has no place among these proceedings. The rule of law is of no consequence to him.” 

The white-haired chief roused himself to try to take control back. “Enough, this is enough. Be seated, everyone.” Numb from the battering they had all just witnessed, he chose the first response he considered. He turned to the reporter, who, her jaw agape, had been watching the exchange in silence. “Miss Tamm, please delete the account of the opening minutes of this hearing from the official records. They are irrelevant to this proceeding.” He looked to the bespectacled man at his right. “If you would, Sir.” 

At Skinner’s nod, the partners schooled themselves into stillness as he returned to his seat. The charade, it seemed, would be required to play through to its inevitable conclusion. 

The senior director opened the folder in front of him. “In the matters of March 20, 1998, we are here to evaluate the actions of Dana Katherine Scully, and decide whether they meet the standards of behavior for a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations.” He looked over at the auburn-haired pathologist. “Doctor Scully, if you would please relate the events of the day as you recall them.” 

Standing by using her partner’s shoulder as a prop, she let out a long, shaky breath before taking a step forward. “Sir, we were in the preliminaries of the State trial of Tyrell Lewis Saunders on two counts of murder of federal agents. He had already been acquitted in Federal court of both.” She continued, describing the explosions, the rescue efforts, ending with her arrival at the hospital with Jarred Stone. 

Waving her back to her seat without comment, Blevins nodded, then turned to the bald Director. “Mister Skinner, where is Tyrell Saunders? He could answer questions related to these events.” 

The bespectacled AD set his jaw. “The exact whereabouts of Tyrell Lewis Saunders are currently unknown, Sir.” It was the truth, as much as could be said, or that he knew. 

Blevins sighed. “Oh? Then is there a witness?” 

With a cough that turned all faces in the room toward him, Jarred Stone rose, leaning on his cane as he ambled forward. “That would be mah humble self, Sir. Jarred Andrew Stone, Professor of Law at UNC School of Law. At the time, Ah was providing legal representation for Mistah Saunders. Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully-” His speech slowed so he could emphasize her titles by drawing them out into four syllables each. “-was assigned to his defense in her capacity as an investigator and representative of the Bureau.” His dark eyes shifted to the entrance through which the blond man had departed. “A most able and intelligent investigator, Ah might add.” He bowed toward the diminutive agent. “The reason I am able to stand before you here today to offer my testimony.” He related his part in the events of the bombing, concluding with, “If not for the forthright and considered actions of Agent Scully, there would have been many, many more casualties in the destruction of the Alexandria courthouse. Many, many more, Sir.” He returned ceremoniously to the chair at the back of the room, all eyes tracking him in silence.

Once Stone was seated, Blevins rapped on the table. “Thank you for your remarks, Professor Stone. That certainly provides light on the matters before us today. So, there is one final point of business before we make our determination.” He eyed the X-Files Section Heads. “Have you brought the pertinent documents as you were so ordered?” 

Scully pulled herself stiffly erect. “Yes, Sir, we have.” Her jaw set firmly as she held out the keys to the van. “They are secured in the parking lot below this building. They are waiting entry into the Bureau document and physical evidence database. I trust they will have permanent residence there for future consultation into equivalent matters.” Her green-blue eyes were locked onto Blevins’s round face. 

He blinked rapidly, then gestured to the senior official closest to Scully to take the keys. Once they were resting on the long table, he looked around to the others seated on either side of him, who each nodded. A rap of his weighted gavel sounded. “Then in the matter of Doctor Dana Katherine Scully, I think I speak for all of us. Welcome back, Agent.” 

Once the room had emptied, four remained, gathered into a tight group in the quiet space. Scully was still seated, staring at the hands clenched tightly in her lap. The bald Director reached into his coat pocket as he stood in front of the auburn-haired pathologist. “Agent Scully, if you would, please.” When she rose, he held out her badge and weapon. “As poorly as he said it, let me second Chief Blevins. Welcome back.” 

After clipping her SIG at the small of her back, then tucking her flip badge away, she met the eyes of the three men gathered around her. “Thank you, all of you.” 

Jarred Stone took her fingers again, enclosing them carefully between his wide palms. “There is justice in the world, Dayna Katherine, now that you have resumed your proper place in it.” He released her hand slowly. “Some men don’t understand the Creation to save their tiny, tiny souls.” Smiling gently, he looked down at her. “Don’t think on him anymore. If I may add a personal note, thank you, for saving my life, Dayna. I didn’t have the chance to tell you, in the middle of everything that was going on.” After glancing at the exit, he hunched down to meet her eyes. “Don’t give him another minute of your time.” He paused to look over at the dark-haired agent. “Just, you two, keep working to set the world right as best you can. That’s all anyone can do.” With a deep bow, he turned to open the door, then stepped through. 

After the latch had engaged, the bald director looked from one partner to the other. “Agents, I’ll second Professor Stone’s comments, and add my own. As your direct supervisor, take the rest of the day off. After all that-” He jerked his head toward the entrance. “-you both need to clear your minds, and I have some discrete inquiries to make.” A crack of paint, then the agents were alone. 

Deeply worried his partner might have suffered a serious injury from the attack, Mulder reached for the pathologist’s shoulders.

She had turned away, her arms tightly crossed. “He hated me, Mulder. Whoever that man was, it was personal, visceral, for him, as if I had betrayed all he felt mattered in his world.” Her forehead deeply creased, she looked at the chair the blond man had occupied. “I know my brothers feel the same, but that’s because I violate their sense of an ordered society, not of the structure of all matter in the universe.” She began rubbing her temples with her fingers. From the motion of his hand on her back, she could sense him walking around her, attempting to read her expression. When he was hovering in front of her, she lifted her eyes to the knot of his red tie, covered in gold dots. “But, he hated everything important about who I am. He had reduced me, in his own mind, to just that part of me that exists no longer. Why would that be all that I am? Is the rest of me just supposed to disappear altogether?” She looked up into his dark, concerned face, feeling more unsettled than she had since she was taken.

His eyes clouding at the red blotches on her neck, Mulder bent over her. “The knowledge we have uncovered has set change, inevitable, major change, rolling over society, Scully.” He grasped her slender shoulders, needing the connection after the unbidden confrontation as much as she did. “That scares some people, and they want to stop progress, like these *new* Earth Firsters. If that means women are locked out of the public sphere, there are men, and not a few women, who will take that step backward for a false sense of security. *He* is one of those people, I think.” 

She tucked her chin. “But life, all life, is about change.” 

After a nod, he dropped one hand back on her spine, feeling her tension and anxiety in his fingertips through her jacket. “Let’s go for a walk on the Mall, Scully, if you feel up to it. We need to remind us why we put ourselves through this, especially for people who don’t want us. We can start fresh tomorrow on those documents. You know the Guys are zoned out. Pendrell and Phillips are wiped, off getting ready for their wedding this weekend. No reason why we can’t have a few hours to recharge, too.” 

Letting her shoulders slump, she leaned into his hand for support. “Okay. An afternoon off wouldn’t be bad, at that.” Her gaze dropped to her black leather heels. “Let me meet you out front, Mulder. I’d like to change these for the walking shoes I keep at the gym for when I hit the treadmill. If we head to the Mall, these will get torn up on the gravel paths.” She turned her face upward, her ginger eyebrows set in a tentative, petitioning cant.

“Sure.” He rubbed his hand up and down her ribs twice, then sent her a gentle, supportive smile. That she had asked for even this small concession told him how much the confrontation with Fitzberwen had unsettled her. He, too, was taken aback that there were educated people in DC who wanted nothing more than to return society to a past where women had no say in their own existence, or any input to culture at large.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, California  
Tuesday, 8:06 am

Jerry Donato dropped the stack of documents on Martin Johnson’s desk. “Sir, I’ve read these figures over until I can’t see straight, but, these machinations are beyond a beat detective like myself.” 

The Aftrican-American checked Gonzales’s long face as well. “What about you, Rich? Tell me what you think.” 

The curled black hair shook. “I’m with the Old Man, here. I couldn’t even keep straight which organizations were which, no matter how many diagrams we drew. Gangland interconnections, I can handle, but these guys have deep pockets and a lot of lawyers at their disposal.” 

Johnson nodded. “Yes, like a certain law firm we’re all thinking of, I’m sure. So, is it time to take this to the Bureau?” 

The partners glanced at each other, before Richard replied for them both. “We were rather thinking of someone else, first, Sir.” 

A long groan as the Sargent leaned back in his chair. “Ah, you’re thinking of the fabled Doctor Miller?” After gesturing for the two detectives to sit, he sighed. “But, she’s not an expert in legal matters like this, Jerry.” 

The thick-chested detective leaned forward. “No, Sir, but she *is* an expert in the equally baffling field of fluid dynamics. I took a course in it as an undergraduate, but, five minutes of waiting in the back of one of her lectures taught me more than a dozen of my old homework assignments.” 

Johnson stared out into the bullpen for a few moments, then offered a single nod. “Very well. She did help us get to the bottom of the Wilton murder.” He leaned over the desk. “Have her come by the Division. I’ll deputize her so she’ll have a little official standing for this case. If she’s anywhere as good as Maria was, Jerry, it will fill a void we’ve all missed for too long.” He eyed the pair. “But, and I mean this, no theatrics this time. Headquarters wasn’t thrilled about paying for the replacement furniture in the interrogation room after she was done. “ 

Richard Gonzales grinned at the memories, but sobered when his partner caught his eye, then shook his head. This was serious business, after all, even if there had been no deaths beyond Michael Evans’s.

\--o-0-o--

Gym, J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 10:53 am

Terry Phillips rubbed her eyes as she stood before the closed door to the women’s locker room. _It’s usually open by now._ She wondered if Thomas, the janitor, had been quick in his start of day cleaning, so someone had had time for an early-morning workout, but, no matter. Still tired from the long night of documentation, she wanted to tease out a few kinks in her neck with several hard laps in the pool. As she stepped through, she thought she heard movement, so slipped her SIG out to disengage the safety. _Vigilance, even here._ She padded slowly up and down the rows of lockers, weapon aimed at the floor as she moved. 

As Phillips rounded the fifth corner, she spied a tiny woman in a charcoal grey pantsuit doubled over on one of the benches. A pair of black pumps, with heels a little too tall for her taste, were turned on their side, one on the brown wood, the other at an angle on the concrete floor. The agent had an untied black walking shoe on her right foot, but the left was encased only in a white cut-down exercise sock. What worried the brunette was that the woman had her arms wrapped around her lower abdomen as she took shallow, jagged gasps. _Pain? Grief? Nausea?_ If this was a junior agent in her first few weeks at Hoover, perhaps she could offer some words of encouragement. “Ma’am?” Her breath hitched as the slight figure pulled erect. “Dana? Agent Scully?” After engaging the safety, she holstered the weapon. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” The somber reply emerged as the auburn-haired pathologist was bending back down to tie the laces stretched out on her right, as her left foot wiggled into the black walking shoe. 

The chemist shook her head as she sat. “Dana, what happened at the hearing? Weren’t you reinstated? There ought to have been no question.” Phillips had to restrain herself from placing a supportive hand on the older woman’s shoulder. 

The diminutive agent drooped visibly. “Yes, I was.” As their eyes met, she sent the younger woman an uncertain flick of her lips. “Thank you for your concern. I’m just more tired than I thought from last night. Agent Mulder is waiting, so I need to go.” 

Now the slender brunette grasped her arm, but drew back at the flinch. “Agent Scully, you have all these bruises on your face and neck. What happened to you? Tell me.” 

Once the laces of the left shoe were set in two identical black loops, the auburn-haired pathologist collected the heels. “It’s difficult to explain, Agent Phillips.” She rose to click the locker open, then place the black leather shoes on the overhead shelf. “There was an outside expert there, who found our progress over the past few years unsatisfactory.” She blew out a shallow breath.

The younger agent found her feet. “Dana, Agent Scully, what do you mean? All the work you and Agent Mulder have done, all you’ve accomplished? If you had been investigating gangs or bank fraud or RICO cases, you would be Assistant Directors in your own right, both of you.” 

The locker rang as the pathologist slammed the metal door shut, a little harder than was necessary. “That wasn’t what he found unsatisfactory.” She sank onto the bench again, her green-blue eyes closing momentarily. “Agent Phillips-” Her forehead wrinkled as the younger, line-free face appeared in her view. “-what you need to understand is there are forces out there who consider any progress we make an abomination, an affront to all they believe is right and good in this world. If you continue working with us, you will encounter these mysterious men, soon enough. This expert was one of them, Agent Mulder and I believe. They are out there, opposing anything we accomplish, everything you will be achieving as well. They have more power than even we understand, that we can measure.” 

Phillips nodded. “Was Agent Mulder’s father one of these men?” 

Scully eyed her carefully. _She was paying attention as she read. Good._ If there was any moment to bring the younger woman into her confidence, it was now. “Yes, Terry, he was. It’s hard for Mulder to wrap his mind around at times, but, he was. That’s how deep this runs. That’s how hard this is.” She rested her palm on the younger woman’s fingers. “But, be assured, we both deeply appreciate your efforts to expose these groups. Your intelligence and diligence are noted and admired, by both of us.” 

The brunette rubbed her face with her hands. “Okay. Thank you for telling me this, Agent Scully. I’ll pass it on to Arthur.” 

With a nod, the diminutive agent rose. “Then, you’ll both know the stakes, Terry. Thank you. But, now, I must go. I can’t keep Mulder waiting any longer.” She padded away in silence.

For several minutes, Phillips continued to stare at the end of lockers where Scully had stepped out of her line of sight, as the chemist reviewed their conversation. Perhaps now that she had won the trust of the agent Arthur held in such high esteem, she could convince him to fill her in on the details of his sudden trip to Africa, to end his silence on all that had transpired. She had been deeply curious if he had witnessed the launch of the rocket that had changed so much, but her red-haired fiancee would only shake his head if she asked. She knew that was no longer acceptable, so rose to head back to their shared lab.

\--o-0-o--

The Mall  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 12:04 pm

The partners had sprinted across the multiple wide lanes of Pennsylvania and Constitution Avenues to reach the open space of the National Mall. Scully, now shod like any one of the women professionals racing to the Metro, kept close to Mulder. Since it was early June, the humidity of summer had not yet taken hold of the city. The welcoming sun and warmth had the greens covered with children on end-of-school-year tours. Teenagers between high school and college were throwing frisbees to dogs of all shapes and sizes that were panting and leaping, delighted to share in these games with their people. Not a few federal employees, their normal workaholic habits abandoned, were sneaking out for a leisurely mid-day break at lunch. 

Once they were standing on the short grass, Mulder stopped to loosen his tie, slide out of his black jacket, then roll up his sleeves. With a twinge of regret, he realized the tan he had acquired on Santorini was beginning to fade. He watched Scully slip out of her dark coat as well, revealing her sleeveless coral shift underneath, then fold the linen neatly over her wrist, hiding reddening bruises on her forearms from the confrontation in the hearing room. He slowed his pace to a stroll, glancing down as he felt her fingers hook inside the bend of his elbow. She was unfolding from her mental crouch, he knew, so he would wait until she felt like speaking again. As they walked, silent in the bubbling crowds, the darkness that had crept into his consciousness during their drive to Massachusetts abated. He felt himself straightening, strengthening. 

“Hum.” 

The quiet call pulled him around to check her face. “You okay, Scully?” 

She looked up at him. “Yes, I will be. Just when we think we have everything figured out, Mulder, that we know the enemies arrayed against us, a new one comes along.” 

“Yeah, Fitzberwen. He may be in league with the Smoker, the way Blevins and his whole bunch are. Or, he may represent the reactionary front. Either way, he represents the forces we must stop.” He felt her fingers tighten against his forearm. “Sorry.” He pressed her hand tightly between his elbow and side. “You should never have been put through that, just for doing the right thing. You’re a better Agent than they’ll ever understand.” 

“Thanks.” She studied the pebbles in the walkway. “No, you’re probably right, Mulder.” Tipping her head up, she met his gaze. “That would be Morley Man’s plan, to send someone like that in a moment when our defenses were down, push us where he thinks he can hurt us, just to watch us squirm. Make us take our focus off him and what he is doing.” They had been traveling toward the Washington Monument, keeping the sun out of their eyes. She slipped her fingers off his arm to look back at the Capitol, watching the aides and visitors climbing the tall, white stairs in the distance. “Or like the Forty.” 

He bent over her. “I didn’t know you thought they were real, Scully.” 

She led them over to a free bench, partly in the sun, partly under the cover of the elms, settling on the left, in the light, as he took the shady side. “I wasn’t convinced, Mulder, until I was reading your Father’s descriptions while we were checking the quality of the copies over.” 

He balled the jacket up on his lap, a sleeve dangling over his knee toward the ground. “They were my Dad’s? How did you figure that out?” 

She twisted to meet his gaze. “The handwriting, at least in the notebooks I was reviewing, was the same on both the visible and secret levels. It was like he was on the inside of the organization, and was recording rituals and meetings he had seen.” 

“Like the Initiation of an Unwilling Member.” 

She tipped her face up, letting the warmth envelop her, before she sat up straight. “More than that, it was like meeting notes. Apparently, there was a schism in the group, about fifty years ago. They had all been men, like the Organizations we’re working to expose. But, shortly after the Second World War, they voted to switch to equal representation of men and women. I’m sorry if this seems cold, Mulder, but that doesn’t sound like a detail your Father would invent if he was creating a fake secret society to cover diaries on his time in the Consortium.” 

The dark head shook. “He never would have thought of that. Even if Sa-” He twitched, then gritted his teeth. “-if my sister hadn’t been taken, my Dad and my Mom would probably have split up anyway.” 

Her fingers brushed his shoulder. “He was too rigid, too authoritarian?” 

The tall agent’s somber gaze fell on a small flock of sparrows chattering as they picked over a fallen cookie. “Yeah.” The rest he left unspoken, as she already knew. 

She slid closer to him. “He named names in there.” 

The cloud lifted. “Oh? That we could track?” 

She shook her head. “It was more like ethnic groups or nationalities, *The* Mandarin, *The* Pict, *The* Slav.” She leaned into his gaze. “Your Father spoke of none of this, even when he was, well...” 

“Drinking, Scully?” He sighed. “Not that I heard. He’d take a bottle of Scotch into his study, lock his door, and I’d find him still in there the next morning, with it empty.” He bundled the jacket into his arms. “So, if he was connected with the Forty, I never knew, until we, until *you* spotted that rising sun on his gravestone.” He sent her a tiny grin. 

She leaped up, surprising him. “Mulder, we are such automatons. Let me buy you lunch. It is Tuesday after all, and we have the afternoon off.” She extended her hand to him; he took it, his fears for her not having yet fully subsided. She was pointing at a food truck, parked along 14th Street, as she dropped his fingers to trot ahead of him. “Gyros and falafel, Mulder. Not as good as Phillipa’s, but better than a dried-out hot dog.” 

He bent into her face, his arms now playfully akimbo. “Don’t knock desiccated sausages full of toxins, Doctor. You never had to try to find something edible in Oxford late at night.” 

She tossed her head as they waited in line behind a large, boisterous family, the children fidgeting while the parents paid. “Oh, all that studying for exams, or-” 

He cocked a dark eyebrow. “That, too.” They stepped up to order, paying before taking their wraps and sodas. The bench they had occupied now supported two women with strollers, so they sequestered themselves in the shade of the elms about five-hundred meters away. She settled with her back against a cleft in the low trunk, while he sprawled out, propped up on an elbow by her knee, facing the Freer Gallery as they ate. 

She chewed, then swallowed, her first bite. “Have you ever thought about taking a real vacation?” Her tone was wistful. 

Finished with his gyro, he rolled onto his stomach to look up at her. “Nah. I’d need that wife and kids and Aunt Dana making sure we all got through the Colosseum, the Forum, and the Palatine Hill on a time-locked one-day ticket before it would be a proper torturous journey.” 

She cocked her head at his smirk, then, as he watched, a deep solemnity settled into her green-blue eyes. “You’re right, Italy would be fun. Not Rome, though. I’ve heard enough about Rome and the Vatican from Mom to last me forever. No, I’d like to go to Venice, Mulder.” 

He blinked at her. “Venice, Scully, really?” A lightning strike of a smirk crossed his features. “Are you planning on dumping me with the wife and kiddies on Burano while you have an operatic fling with a virile, handsome gondolier in Dorsoduro?” 

With a sigh, she shifted against the bark, one palm rubbing her stiffening abdominal muscles. “No, gondolas are taxis, Mulder, beautiful, but simple basic transportation. But, that amazing art, just everywhere. The Titians, the Veroneses, the Tintorettos. The churches. The music. The Gabrielis, Monteverdi, Vivaldi.” Both green-blue eyes closed momentarily. “Repelling Pepin. Constantinople. A Quarter and Half a Quarter of the Roman Empire. Lepanto. Daniele Manin reviving the Republic in a desperate last stand against the Austrians.” She smiled softly at her partner. “I guess I’ll always be a sucker for lost causes, G-man.” 

One corner of his mouth lifted, but she looked so somber, he kept the jibe about ‘womaning the barricades’ he had considered offering to himself. 

That solemn, distant, wistful gaze reappeared. “The Sea, everywhere you look. The city that should never have existed, yet always will, sailing down the currents of time.” 

All levity vanishing, he whispered gently, “La Serenissima.” He shifted until he was against the elm as well. “Okay, one day, we’ll do it, G-woman.” Resting an arm on an upraised knee, he twisted to grin down at her. “I found you a real working ancient Athenian trireme, after all.” The light in her eyes, the first he had seen that day, was all the reward he needed. “You, me, St. Mark’s Square. No wife. No kiddies. No impossibly handsome gondolier with the operatic tenor voice. We’ll find some antiquarian puzzle that will get us lost in those insanely crooked alleys until we never get out. Maybe Marin Falier will return to the Palazzo Ducale to reclaim his cap, so Uncle Sam can pay for fancy digs.” 

She gazed up at him. “You sound like you’ve been there, Mulder.” 

His head rocked back and forth on the bark. “No, just too much Guido Brunetti.” Suddenly serious, he turned to her. “Look, I know it’s not Tintoretto, or even van Gogh, but there are some Mark Rothkos over in the East Building I didn’t think I’d have the time to see.” He cast her a diffident glance. “Care to join me, Doctor?” 

She smiled. “Sure. Then I get to pay my respects to Ginevra, all right?” 

He stood, knocking the sand off the seat of his pants and his knees with his palms. “Works for me.” He extended his hand, but she was already on her feet, having collapsed their paper cups and wrappings into a tight ball. After passing the closest trash can, she slipped into her jacket, as he already had his, then, shoulder to shoulder, they began the walk east along the pebbled trackways of the Mall toward I. M. Pei’s symphony of triangles.

\--o-0-o--

British Embassy  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 1:23 pm

Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn sighed as he pushed open the door to his office. He had been too long in DC, he realized. There were matters across the Atlantic that should claim the entirety of his attention. His estate outside Llangollen needed a long residence on his part to set his businesses back in order. He had set up a brewpub for the tourists, which was thriving, but renting out parts of the grounds to the local sheep farmers was not. His family home was ranked highly by his visitors for its amenities and picturesque beauty, but, the bulky goods offered in the space he lent out to the local weaving collective tended to be, like the herds of sheep, admired and photographed, rather than purchased. Perhaps once selling imported items on-line really took off, they could make a go of it, but, right now, walk-up business was very poor. 

All that aside, there was the matter that concerned him the most. He fingered the ruby dragon of his tie-tack, then the forty waves radiating from the circle around it. He was no closer to meeting the son of the Atrebates than when he had assumed the assignment following his discussion with the Quaestor. The man was in the FBI, he knew. Discrete inquiries had been met with silence, or outright denial. No agent of that name worked in the Hoover Building, he had been told. 

As he sat, the phone rang. “Yes?” 

“Sir, Colonel Collins is here to speak with you. Should I send him in?” 

“By all means.” He placed the handset on the base unit. _When had I become so British?_ His distant Gwinn ancestors, rulers as they had been of the wild parts of northern Wales, would have decapitated this annoying factotum purely for breathing too loudly, then left his body for the wolves. But, not in the civilized Twentieth Century. Instead, he would nod politely at whatever that insufferable know-it-all had to say, but, perhaps this time would be worth the aggravation. The doorknob turned, he sighed, smoothed down his red curls, then rose. “Charles! How are you?” He extended his own hand.

His visitor began, not with words, but with a long, nasal clearing of an aristocratic throat, loud as the rattle of a jet engine spinning up. “Oh, cawhn’t complain, cawhn’t complain.” The finely buffed fingers reached across the uncluttered desk. “Just wanted to tell you, that on-again, off-again ceremony at the Hoover Building is apparently back on again.” 

The Cymru frowned. “And, which ceremony is that, Charles?” He had to push back hard on noting to himself, yet again, the similarity in both mannerisms and appearance with the fictional Charles Emerson Winchester. 

“Oh, old chap, that darling FBI woman, who shall be receiving a commendation from the Director for her lifesaving efforts earlier this year.” He waved in the general direction of the Bureau’s headquarters. “I told you about her. Pathologist. Pretty little red-head. A shout has gone out to most of the countries with a field office. It’s a chance for the agency to say thank you and promote their image of themselves as agents of justice. They’ll have the ceremony in the courtyard of the Hoover Building, so it should be spectacular.” 

Dafydd ap Gwinn was suddenly focused. His contacts had mentioned that the partner of the man he sought to interview was indeed a ‘pretty little red-head.’ “Why was there any question about the commendation?” He, too, had been riveted by the coverage of a tragedy so close to the embassy. That day, he had stepped outside his office, slipping across Massachusetts Avenue to join others crowding the open space of the Khalil Gibran Memorial, where they could just see the smoke rising from across the river. He hoped to never experience anything like that here in the District again. 

That jet engine rattle issued forth. “She had to sit through yet another hearing about her actions, if you can believe it.” Immensely pleased that his nugget of intelligence was of such interest, he nodded. “I just met with one of the adjudicating panel for lunch. Whoever had ginned the proceedings up must have wanted to give the poor woman a real spot of difficulty over the thing. Long grilling by some outside expert.” He shook his head. “Odd people, these Americans. I shall never become accustomed to this place. Rush, rush, about everything important, like a good meal with old friends, yet, for a simple act of human decency they turn into curmudgeons, dragging their feet about doing the right thing.” He reached into an inner coat pocket. “There’s even a printed announcement, now. My contact handed it to me.” He slid the flier across the desk. 

Ap Gwinn lifted the paper, then nearly dropped it. There was an eerie keening in his head, one he recognized immediately, understanding clearly what it meant. “This is the Agent?” He looked over at Collins. “Are you certain?” 

His visitor nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Why, old chap, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” 

Ap Gwinn sighed. “Better than I have felt in quite some time, Charles. I shall have to clear my schedule for next Tuesday.” 

Collins stood before favoring him with another of his annoying habits, clicking his heels together with a sharp rap. “Well, I should be going. Glad to have been of service.” 

The red curls bobbed as they exchanged a perfunctory handshake, then ap Gwinn was alone. He had seen images of the young woman who had been the Riata, faded black and white prints from just after the war. The face looking up out of the paper, while far from identical, had the same determined set to her chin, the serious gaze, the same straight shoulders. There were now two people in the FBI he desperately needed to contact, both of whom might prove of vital importance to the fate of the Forty. He began working his way through his schedule for the next week, looking to clear whatever events he could to be able to attend. He needed to speak with the Ambassador, to offer to represent the United Kingdom at so serendipitous an event. That, he suspected, would not be difficult. There were so many government functions Embassy personnel would be called to attend that the staff could not accommodate all the requests. So, to volunteer would be welcomed. In fact, it would be a burden off his superior’s shoulders.

\--o-0-o--

outside Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
Tuesday, 3:23 pm

Sandra Miller taped the last sheet of final grades to the wall outside her office door. Her students, she knew, preferred to download their numbers from the University’s website, but, she always posted the full class scores as well, recipients identified only by social security number. That way, the few who did drop by could see the spread for each class, so they would know they had not been cheated. Although, truth be told, it was usually those at the head and tail of the distributions who bothered to check. Those who has squeaked by, or those who had missed an A grade by a point or two didn’t want to know. 

“Doctor Miller!” 

She smiled at the slight trill of Richard Gonzales’s call. “Oh, I’m afraid your scores are posted elsewhere, detectives. Perhaps if you step into that blue police box of mine over there-” She pointed down the corridor to her right toward the far end of the hall. “-you can go back and check them out for yourselves.” 

Jerry Donato was grinning broadly, an expression his partner had never expected to see again. “What? There are female time-lords? Who would have thought of such a thing? A female Doctor piloting the Tardis?” 

She bounced around in a happy half-circle. “That’s it, school’s out, Detectives. I can go pursue my summer research projects.” 

The thick-chested detective prodded his partner gently in the ribs. “Ah, geeks. So happy to have more work to do.” 

Gonzales extended his hand, gratified by the firm response the professor offered. “Doctor Miller, we have a problem for you. Not as interesting as the work you had in mind, but it would be a great benefit to two baffled beat cops like ourselves.” 

She held the door. “If you please, Jerry, Richard, I’d be happy to help.”

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Tuesday, 7:47 pm

Fox Mulder leaned over the kitchen table. The vegetarian Pakistani take-out, rich and filling, had his auburn-haired partner nodding across from him. The quiet hours spent wandering over the marble floors, her fingers curled around the crook of his arm as he explained Rothko’s abstractions to her had helped ground them both, giving them the mental space to unwind and recuperate after the events of the morning. He began collecting their dishes. 

She reached for the plates in his hands. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll help.” They worked quickly, stacking away containers in the refrigerator, cleaning utensils and flatware as she related to him the conversation between herself and Terry Phillips. When all were drying in the dish-rack, she leaned close to his side. “Thanks.” 

His face dark with sympathy, he nodded. “No problem, Scully.” She had been moving easily, so he no longer feared he would be running her to the hospital. He had thought of three new tweaks he could send her way, but she was looking up at him soberly, so he waited. 

“Mulder, have you given any more thought to calling Maria? It’s been a hectic couple of days, but I don’t want to let any more time go by than necessary. We’ll always find excuses if we don’t.” She grasped his elbow for a moment to emphasize her concern. 

With a sigh, he arched both eyebrows. “Oh, that.” He fiddled with the red and white checked towel in his hand. “Okay.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me get her number.” 

She was extending a business card toward him. “I grabbed this at the rest retreat, just in case we had needed it for Saunders.” She cocked her head to look up into his down-turned gaze. “Run you back to your place afterward?” 

He shook his head. “No. Not tonight.” The tenor was hoarse, quiet, as he searched her face. 

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay. The guest bedroom is yours, as always, Mulder. Don’t break your back on my sofa, not after all the twisting and lifting we did in the past 24 hours.” 

The confrontation in the hearing room filling him with dread, he shifted close to her, brushing the back of his fingers over the red blotches on her cheek. “You really okay, Scully?”

Still aching, she bumped his arm with her shoulder. “Yes, I will be after a good soak. See you tomorrow, unless you need to talk afterward?” At his diffident silence, one auburn brow arched. _No jibe, partner? This must bother you more than you let on._

His forehead furrowed, he rubbed her shoulder, then watched her head into her bedroom. When he heard the bathroom door click, he settled onto the couch.

\--o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
Tuesday, 5:03 pm

Jerry Donato glanced over at his partner. They had been watching Sandra frown, sigh, check search engines, pace, then scribble lines on her whiteboard for several hours. Perhaps there really was nothing here worth pursuing, so they’d have to start again. 

The chestnut-haired woman capped the dry-erase marker before replacing it in the molded Styrofoam tray with six others, all black. “Okay, I think I see what’s going on here.” She reached into her desk drawer to remove a red, a green, and a blue marker. Uncapping the red one, she drew a long line from a column of names in the upper left corner to the bottom center. “These four corporations are the first level of subsidiaries to Osaka. You can tell-” She sealed off the red felt, then the green tip was exposed. “-by the family relationships between the presidents of the five.” Now she wrote in hiragana beside the corporation name. “The four are married to second cousins of the president of Osaka.” She capped the green pen to rest it on the low bookcase in front of the whiteboard. 

“Oh, okay.” Jerry frowned at the lines and arrows. 

She exposed the red marker again. “Now, these eight corporations-” She paused while she drew a series of lines. “-are subsidiaries of Tomayasu Holding Corporation.” She switched to the blue pen, writing out more hiragana. “There’s no familial relationship here, but the presidents are protegees of Doctor Sukirib set up with businesses of their own after two decades of apprenticeship.” She circled the remaining three company names. “I can’t work out how these three fit, though. There’s no personal connection to any of the heads of the other corporations. They produce medical equipment, and have a strong research branch in genetics, which is something the other companies are completely divorced from. Hunh.” She crossed her lanky arms, her hazel gaze flicking over the lines on the board. 

Jerry Donato had to suppress an urge to bounce over to hug the tall woman, who was twirling a strand of chestnut hair in her fingers idly. “Sandra, we’ve stared at these sheets and names for hours, and we couldn’t get anywhere close to this.” 

“Oh?” Puzzled, she glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, sorry, I have Japanese colleagues, so they’ve explained how corporations in their country work to me several times.” Her dark eyebrows drew together. “I thought everybody knew this.” 

Richard Gonzales stood to approach her. “Doctor Miller, thank you. If you wouldn’t mind, could you come to the District tomorrow and show this to our Sergeant? We’d like to have our presentation straightened out before we go to ASAC Nichols.” 

Jerry nodded as he joined the pair. “We’d also like to make your involvement in this case a bit more official, Sandra. The Sarge wants to give you a deputy’s badge.” 

Gonzales chuckled. “As long as the furniture stays intact, Professor.” 

She sent them both a lop-sided grin. “Not a problem. This has been something different.” She looked from one to the other. “Can I interest one or both of you in dinner? I like to celebrate the end of the semester, and it would be fun to do it with friends.” 

Jerry smiled back. “Will Judy be joining us?” 

Sandra tossed her long curls. “If she wants to. She finished her last exams yesterday. Let me ring her at her office. It’s been a long time since either of us have felt like stepping out on the town with two handsome gentlemen.” 

Richard prodded Jerry with his elbow. “Not a bad brain in that head, Old Man.” 

Jerry chuffed back. “But not anywhere as good as hers.”

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5 / Elizabeth Hill Rest Retreat  
Alexandria, VA / outside Chatsworth, New Jersey  
Tuesday, 8:23 pm

Mulder was staring down at the plain black numbers, then, with a sigh, tapped the phone buttons. _Best to get this over with._ “Maria Alvarez, please.” He waited while the night receptionist transferred him. 

“Fox? Fox is that you?” 

“Maria.” He lapsed into a growl. “You know...”

“And you know, too.” They both found themselves smiling at the old argument. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you okay? Is Dana okay?” 

He tilted his head toward the sound of running water, then twisted on the sofa cushions. “Yeah, we’re both okay. I’ll catch you up later.” He started poking the piping on the back of the couch. “Listen, Maria-” 

“Okay, I am.” Laying aside the latest Lillian Jackson Braun, she sat up in her bed, adjusting her pillows. “Talk to me, Fox.” 

“I need your help.” He blinked, thinking of no simpler way to start.

She shoved the covers off her legs. “Okay, I can be there in four hours, three if the cops aren’t out. I’ll have to make some arrangements for my patients, but that’s no problem.” 

He waved his hand, aware the gesture was invisible to her. “No, no, not like that.” He blew out a breath. “I mean, I need you to regress me. We, Scully and I, found some documents of my Dad’s, and it’s triggering memories about my sister.” He would wait until they were communicating without electronics to offer all the details. 

Maria slid back under the covers. “Okay. But, I thought you were looking for her? Langly said something about Africa and San Diego the last he was up here to work on our computers and security systems.” 

He set himself upright to start bouncing around the room. “We found her, Maria. Scully and I, we found her.” 

She practically threw the covers off the bed. “You did? Is she alive? Where is she?” 

He crossed his arm over his stomach. “She’s in San Diego. She’s a professor there, by the name of Sandra Ann Miller.” 

She was pacing as well, ignoring the gooseflesh appearing on her legs from the air conditioning. “But, have you seen her, Fox? Have you gone out there?” She was flipping through her day planner as she spoke. 

He grunted. “No, not yet.” He glanced anxiously at the wall between the living room and the bathroom. The water had stopped running, so he knew his partner was up to her chin in lavender-scented soap suds. 

Maria rested her hand on her desk. “Fox, why not? What’s the matter?” 

He sighed. “It’s these memories. I go, well, not catatonic, but like there’s a conditioned block that got put in place. It didn’t appear until after Scully and I returned from Santorini.” He chewed his lip. Any surveillance he might be undergoing would only be sent back to persons who already knew these details, but just to be safe, he stopped. “That’s really all I can say over the phone.” 

She began scribbling on her day planner. “Okay, Thursday is free. Tell me where and when.” 

A grin flashed. “Whenever you can make it. You can stay at Scully’s. She has a spare bedroom, so it won’t put you out and you won’t have to drive back until you’re rested.” 

She caught her long black hair in her hand, twisting it to flip it over her right shoulder. “Fox, this is wonderful news. Just wonderful. I’ll be happy to do whatever I can to help.” 

He flopped on the couch again. “Yeah. Thanks, Maria. Just, thanks.” 

She smiled softly. “Of course. Anything for my favorite patient. Say hi to Dana for me.” 

“Sure.” After he terminated the call, he lowered the black unit to his lap, then began chewing the corner of his lip contemplatively. 

The conversation concluded, Maria Alvarez resumed pacing.

\--o-0-o--

Second Nature  
San Diego, CA  
Tuesday, 8:51 pm

Richard Gonzales chuckled at his partner. “That number three, Jerry?” 

Donato nodded. “As long as the beers are as good as their names, I’m tasting.” He turned to Sandra, who was carefully nursing her kombucha cooler. “When you said vegan, I thought that was it, just tofu. But, they make a decent skirt steak, so I’m good.” 

Sandra cocked a dark eyebrow. “As long as your arteries are, I won’t care a bit, Detective.” 

He bumped her shoulder with his arm. “Hey, I thought we were past that, Sandra.” Sobering, he shifted to face her. “You feeling okay?” 

Judy Wilton set down her pinot grigio. “Have you told him about the nightmare, Sandie?” 

A shake of chestnut curls was her only answer. 

Jerry and Richard exchanged a glance, then the Latino detective turned to Sandra. “Doctor Miller, if this has something to do with your past, you should consider talking to someone.” 

“No!” The near shout had heads turning around them in the crowded restaurant. “I am fine. I’ve been through worse.” She speared a slice of mushroom, risotto grains clinging to it , then set about chewing, before swallowing the bite of her entree. “It’s okay. I’ve spent the day with Andrea Rosen, trying to understand Evans’s connections to James Andrews.” Her hazel eyes flicked between Jerry’s and Richard’s dark ones. “I meant to tell you, but we were having so much fun. I wanted a break from working for just a few hours.” 

Donato took the liberty of patting her arm twice. “That’s okay, this has been a good for us, too. Tell us when you feel like it.” 

But the blonde professor refused to back down. “Sandra, tell them about the dream. Tell them what you saw *in* the nightmare.” 

The hazel eyes glared at Judy’s blue ones. “No. Not here. It wasn’t what you think, Judy. It was something else. When I can understand it, I will. It doesn’t pertain to the investigation we were discussing this afternoon, so it’ll be a subject for later.” She bit her lip once, then sought out Jerry’s face. 

He nodded. “So, tell me about it after I drop you off, okay?”

\--o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, CA  
Tuesday, 10:16 pm

Jerry Donato stood at Sandra Miller’s elbow as she tugged at the thick ring of keys in her pocket. 

She looked over. “It’s okay, Jerry, I could have brought the bike in myself.” 

He shifted the bar slightly up his shoulder. “No, I’m okay. Besides, we’ll be using it to block in a certain Inquisitor – Hey, Salazar, stop!” He began shaking the bike at the two felines peering intently into the darkness. After they stepped through, she locked the door, then he carried the Specialized to her back porch. When he returned, the British Shorthair and the Turkish Van were picking over their dinners, while Sandra was washing up the can and plates. 

“Thanks, Jerry.” 

He smiled. “Not a problem. You were quiet for the rest of the evening. You feel like telling me about it?” 

Finished, she dried her hands, set the can and lid in recycling, then headed into the living room. Settling into the armchair, she tucked herself into a ball. “It’s something to do with my brother. I tried to talk to Judy because she might have found some explanation in her work, but she was too harried with her own exams to offer anything other than a few words from Jung. Hey, there, boys.” She grinned at the two felines, who were standing in the middle of the oak boards. Salazar purred as she lifted him from the floor to tuck him under her chin, while Tuggles settled beside Jerry on the sofa. “These two.” 

He stroked the thick white fur. “They’re getting along better, aren’t they?” 

She nodded as she twiddled the rounded marmalade ears. “It helps to have an extra pair of hands to call one’s own, as well.” Still running her long fingers over the cobby shape, she began her description. “There were three women in the dream. I couldn’t see their faces, or even their bodies, very clearly. But, they were shoulder to shoulder. There were two men, both my brother, kneeling in front of them. There was a boy stretched out on the ground between the women and the two versions of my brother. One was exactly what I saw in the picture from the Bureau, and one was, well, not. He was the same reed-thin man, but, a little older, and grey around the temples. Each was imploring them, for something. The boy never moved, but, he was somehow familiar. I couldn’t hear. It was like I was watching it all from underwater, so any words were distorted.” She crossed her legs before resting the tabby on her ankles. He kneaded her thigh, then settled down to wash one red paw. “I need to do some reading. I need to understand what I was trying to tell myself with it.” She met his gaze for the first time. “What do you think, Jerry?” The hazel eyes looked slightly haunted. 

It bothered him that she seemed afraid for the first time in their acquaintance. “I don’t know, Sandra.” The black curls shook. “I’m honored you wanted to share it with me, but, I’m no expert in dreams, even my own. You were right to try to talk about it with Judy. Maybe she’ll have some time now that her classes are over, too.” 

“Okay. It’s late. The guest bedroom is yours if you don’t want to head back home tonight?” She eyed him hopefully. 

“Not tonight, Sandra. I have morning call too early for a professor who needs to sleep in after her last class.” With one last stroke of the white back, he rose. 

The professor set Salazar beside Tuggles, then the felines started washing each other’s heads. “Ah. First time I’ve seen them do that.” She walked beside him to the door. “Thanks for listening, anyway.” 

He held his arms out to her, delighted when she leaned against him happily. “Another evening, then. We’ll sort this out, Sandie.” He patted her back before releasing her to step through the entrance. “See you tomorrow at the station, remember? We’ll make a law enforcement professional of you yet, professor.” 

A lop-sided grin spread. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

After the door closed behind him, Jerry Donato chewed his mustache as he walked to his car. Life with Sandra Miller was never going to be uncomplicated.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Tuesday, 9:02 pm

After rubbing her hair dry, Dana Scully tossed her light blue towel in the rattan hamper, then slid her thick terry cloth bathrobe over the grey shorts and Bern t-shirt. Still barefoot, she stepped into the living room. As she expected, her partner was sprawled on her green and white sofa, the cell phone still on his chest. She settled beside him, calling him softly. 

He took a deep breath. “Scully?” He blinked at her. “I went out?” 

She nodded. “So, I heard a little through the walls. Maria will be here on Thursday?” 

He shifted upright, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, she will be.” 

She patted his shoulder. “Good. Maybe we can get to the bottom of this. We can do the regression here, or at your place, or wherever you feel more comfortable. Okay?” 

He leaned forward, letting the black unit fall to the cushions. “Here. I’d like you here, too, Scully.” His darkening eyes met hers. “I need a dispassionate witness, so I know I’m not being led. Step in, if you feel the session is going off track.” He grasped, then released, her wrist. “I’ll need you to.” 

She shifted close to his side. “Of course.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you trust Maria?” 

He turned to face her. “It’s not that. It’s just, if anybody, you know more about the events of my past than even my Mom. Maria doesn’t. She might suggest an idea without meaning to, and, “ 

She nodded. “It’ll become a false memory you won’t be able to dislodge.” His eyebrows were canted since he was barely awake. But, it would take a little more encouragement to ease him to the rest he so obviously needed. Knowing no other means of persuasion, she shifted to rub the length of his spine several times. “Mulder, go take a shower and head to bed. We’re not used to the all-nighters yet, okay?” 

One cheek twitched. 

“*Your* bed, G-man. The one I can only get you use when you’re pumped full of dopamine agonist.” Rising, she tugged at his elbow, grateful when he stood without resistance. At the bathroom door, she pointed to the fresh towels she had on the sink. “See, all stripes, just like all those Rothkos.” 

He sighed. “Sorry.” 

She looked up at him. “What do you mean, Mulder?” 

He was regarding her with hooded eyes. “I thought you enjoyed the afternoon, Scully.” 

She stepped up to him. “I did! You don’t understand, Mulder, I couldn't take the train to London and wander the British Museum on a Saturday, the way you could in college. I learned about Western art from reading art history, and the reference texts I checked out of the UMD library had ended around 1900. I didn’t have a context for what we were seeing until you started explaining it to me. I learned something today, from you. I always enjoy that.” They held each other’s gaze, until she patted his sides with both hands. “Now, shower, bed. A healthy breakfast in the morning, not the Count Chokula I saw you scarfing out of the box at the Gunman’s. I have whole-grain English muffins, a tub of FAGE, and lots of fruit in the refrigerator, thanks to Mom’s diligence.” 

_If we’re ever in London, I know where we’re going._ He sent her a lop-sided grin. “Okay. ‘Night, Scully. I’ll forego the Jimmy Dean’s for one morning.” He smirked at her barely-suppressed eye-roll as she turned. 

She had her hand on her bedroom doorknob, but looked up searchingly to check his eyes, to see that his teasing wasn’t covering a pain too near. The hazel was clear, the lids sagging slightly, so she called out to him gently. “Good night, Mulder.”

“Night, Doctor.” He bent toward her, then stepped onto the tiles as he reached for the knob of the door of the brightly-lit bathroom. 

Two clicks terminated the conversation, as each turned into their respective spaces.

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter III - Checkmate


	4. The Schizoid Man

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter IV – The Schizoid Man 

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Number Two: Even in those days it was obvious you were going to make a top-notch field   
man. Here am I, stuck in admin. You always did enjoy your food, even before you got  
your jobs from the black file.   
The Prisoner: Sorry I didn’t shave. Couldn’t find a razor.   
Number Two: Ah, my dear chap, I’m so sorry.   
The Prisoner: It must have been mislaid. Strange apartment.   
Number Two: And after all that flying,   
The Prisoner: Yes.   
Number Two: You must feel a bit disoriented.   
The Prisoner: What’s it all about?   
Number Two: Our prized prisoner. The one we call Number Six. Toughest case I’ve ever   
handled. Now, I could crack him of course, but I can’t use the normal techniques. Too   
valuable. Mustn’t damage him permanently, say our masters. That’s why I need you.   
The Prisoner: Why do you need me?   
Number Two: You bring two great gifts to bear. Firstly, your abilities as an Agent.   
The Prisoner: Ah, yes. Secondly?   
Number Two: You have a unique physical advantage.   
The Prisoner: Physical advantage! Of growing a mustache overnight?   
Number Two: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. No, not quite. You took longer that time to correct.   
The Prisoner: To correct?  
Number Two: You remember how Susan hated you without it. She told me she   
wouldn’t kiss you until you grew it again.   
The Prisoner: Good decision.   
Number Two: You know you really do bear a remarkable resemblance to him. Remarkable.   
Your job, Number Twelve, will be to impersonate him. Take his sense of reality away.   
(The Prisoner picks up the Tally Ho, sees the Feb. 10th date in the upper right corner.)   
Number Two: Once he begins to doubt his own identity, he’ll crack. What do you   
think of the idea?   
The Prisoner: I think it has fascinating possibilities, but you’ll have an awful job   
convincing me that I am not your Number Six.   
Number Two: Ah. Ha, excellent Number Twelve, of course. Always the professional. Hum.   
Started living the part already, eh? Oh, that reminds me. Allow me. (He pins on the   
Number Six button.) You’re now officially Number Six.   
The Prisoner: (tears off button) I shan’t need this to remind me that I am your Number Six. 

The Schizoid Man

\-----o---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Apartment 5   
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, June 10, 1998  
8:17 am 

With a long, deep breath, Dana Scully forced her eyes open. The large red numbers blinking back at her had her scrambling to her feet. _I can’t afford to be *this* tired!_ Quickly tossing the covers over the bed, she rushed to the door to stumble through, nearly colliding with her partner, who had his left hand raised, fingers curled, ready to knock. “Mulder!” She gasped at the aches she still felt as she pulled herself up short. 

The long fingers dropped to her shoulder. “Doctor, slow down. The Cybermen are still sleeping.” Rubbing circles around her collarbone with his thumb, he held a steaming mug of coffee toward her. As she took it, he assessed the marks on her face, neck, and arms. They had blackened, but not spread. She would be okay, if stiff for a day or so. A quiet morning and afternoon would help her recover, but she would never ask for it, he knew. He had a distraction planned that he hoped would give her that space. 

As she drank, she checked her partner over as well, only to realize he was as disheveled as she. His dark, short hair sticking up at all angles, he was in his Oxford sweatshirt and faded grey sweatpants, still barefoot. The coffee half-drained, she lifted her chin. “Mulder, it’s so late. We need to get into work.” 

He was tugging down the back of the soft ribbed band. “Not really. Skinner’s at Quantico for a few days.” He shrugged. “Some high-level management retreat I was told it would be best I avoid. Pendrell and Phillips are starting their month’s leave today, so they’re otherwise occupied. I called Cynthia and gave her the day off, too. She was working until midnight on her final.”

One corner of her lips quirked. “We both suspected she would do that.” 

The dark-haired agent nodded. “She’s a good kid. I’m sorry Lindhauer got inside her head the way he did. Besides, we need to talk about the Section, and we can do that here just as easily as in X-Files East.” 

Scully studied her partner’s eyes. The hazel was untroubled. While he wore no smirk, his forehead was smooth, so whatever was on his mind was indeed work-related, but not serious. After emptying the mug, she handed it to him, then began turning into her room. “Okay, give me a few. Good coffee, Mulder, thanks.” 

Even with her back to him, she could hear the grin in his voice. “Ah, my retirement plan is still in place, then.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Wednesday, 5:24 am

“The Muirlands surveillance is continuing. Southern Division will be supplying six officers to assist starting Friday. I’ll have the specific names later this morning so we will know the new assignments and schedules.” Martin Johnson flipped the pages of his notes back into order, then lifted the clipboard off the lectern. “Okay, people, let’s give San Diego its money’s worth again today, shall we?” Several uniforms approached the front, asking for specifics relating to their assignments or informing him of overnight arrests. 

After the central conference room had emptied, the African-American focused on the two officers remaining. “Rich, Jerry, what do you have?” The three turned as the side door opened. The Sargent nodded. “Professor Miller. Thank you for waiting.” 

She had been crossing the space determinedly. “You and your people have work to do. I could help you best by staying out of the way.” She checked each of their faces in turn before holding several printed pages toward the African-American. “I took the time to write up my notes after I arrived home.” As she glanced at Jerry, she tossed her head, her long chestnut curls floating freely around her face. “I also researched a bit more on the Web.” 

Johnson waved them toward his office. Once they were all inside, the officers settled in front of his desk, with Sandra pacing by the back wall, he read over the papers. “Thank you, Doctor Miller. It’s obvious Evans was a pawn in something larger than we understood. Jerry?” He passed the sheets to the thick-chested detective. 

Donato chewed his mustache as he skimmed the pages, then handed them to his partner. Sandra had added the three companies she had failed to tie in the previous day, so a full flow-chart of subsidiaries was now laid out before them in a single graphic. He twisted to catch her eye, bringing her to a stand-still. “This must have taken several hours to put together, Sandie. How much sleep did you get last night, anyway?” 

Richard Gonzales glanced over at their Sargent, who had cocked an eyebrow at the exchange. “Sarge, we had dinner last night, the four of us, in case you’re wondering.” 

He shrugged. “I only need to know if affects an on-going investigation, Rich. Otherwise, you’re, wait, you said four?” 

Jerry turned back to face the desk. “Judy Seymour-Wilton joined us, Sir.” 

Sandra began fidgeting. “So, is this good enough to take to the FBI? Or do I need to collect some more data?” Glaring at Johnson, she crossed her arms. 

The African-American nodded. “I should say it’s good enough.” He removed a folder from his lower drawer. “Doctor Miller, I have something for your attention as well.” Walking over to her, he handed her the papers, then waved her to his desk. “Read them. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” When Donato and Gonzales began rising, he shook his head. “Not a case, detectives, just taking care of some early-morning coffee.” 

Sandra had flipped through the six pages by the time the partners had turned their attentions back to her. “Okay, so, do I have to do this oath orally, or is there something I can just sign and be done with it?” 

The detectives exchanged a glance, before Jerry huffed through his mustache. “Sandra, don’t you have questions?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I can make arrests, provided there is an active member of the force to back me up. Until I’m trained, I can’t carry a weapon. I don’t see the need for the formality, but if there’s a legal reason for it, I can live with it.” Both thick, dark eyebrows raised, she met Jerry’s gaze. “Is that about it?” 

He blew out a breath. “But, doesn’t it make you uncomfortable? Academics usually don’t like assuming these types of responsibilities.” 

She walked around the desk to stand in front of the thick-chested detective. “It does, but, I’ve accepted it, and there’s an investigation we need to conduct. So?” She raised her chin, her over-large lips drawn in a straight line. 

Richard Gonzales failed to stop himself from grinning. The no-nonsense woman they had worked with on the Wilton murder was back, in spades. If they didn’t repair to the San Diego FBI offices in short order, he fully expected she would hop on her bicycle to spin her way there herself, just because it was where they needed to go next. 

Jerry Donato found his feet. “Sandie, we’re okay, then.” He turned as the door opened. “She’s ready, Sarge. We’re good.” 

The African American nodded. “So, we can proceed.” He reached into his top desk drawer for two cards, then lined them up side-by-side on his desk. “Doctor Miller, lift your right hand and read the oath on the page.” After an impatient glare, she complied. “Now, keep those in your wallet. One is an official ID, the other, the rights you’ll have to read a suspect.” 

She tucked them away. “Okay?” 

Jerry touched her elbow lightly. “Then, we have a trip to the Bureau on the agenda. Sarge?” 

Settling behind his desk, Johnson shook his head. “I’ll let you three take it from here.” He began reviewing and counter-signing overnight arrest reports as Sandra collected her papers, then the three left his office.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 8:29 am

Suspecting they might be setting off on yet another quest, Scully donned khakis, a light blue polo shirt, and black running shoes, pulled a comb through her hair a few times, tucked her ID in her pocket, clipped on her SIG, but no more. Ready, she stepped out of her bedroom. “Mulder?” 

“Here.” The tenor came from her living room, so she headed toward it. He was setting down a tray with toasted English muffins, yogurt, cheeses, and sliced apples, alongside two more steaming mugs of coffee. His gaze was somber as he bent toward her face. “Healthy breakfast, I thought you said.” He waved her to the overstuffed armchair. 

She patted his elbow as she passed him. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do this, Mulder.” 

His eyes twinkling, he responded with a lop-sided grin. “Ah, no problem, Scully. I forget what a refrigerator with real food looks like, sometimes.” He sprawled out on the green and white sofa, a plate already piled high in his hand. They settled down to eating.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West  
San Diego FBI Field Office  
San Diego, CA  
Wednesday, 7:13 am

Phil Nichols loved the early hours he now kept. Being as he was single, the girls visiting only on alternate weekends, he could set his comings and goings as he pleased. Since he was no longer working undercover, his nights and remaining weekends were also free. But, as he rolled into his parking space, *his*, marked for ‘ASAC Nichols,’ he sighed. There was a tan Ford sitting silently in the first row, which meant his free hour to review beer recipes was filled. 

Three figures exited the two-door to head over to surround him. 

Nichols nodded to each in turn. Sandra Miller was chewing her lower lip in frustration. If she was anything like her brother, she had, no doubt, instigated their early arrival. As the senior agent stepped out of his silver Camry, purchased when his old Dart had finally expired, she was bending in to speak to Jerry Donato. 

“ASAC Nichols?” Richard Gonzales was attempting to smooth over any discomfort the coming interactions might cause. 

The balding Montanan greeted them in his gruffest tones. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, good people?” 

Sandra stopped fidgeting. “We need to discuss the Japanese corporations who may be involved in illegal Mediterranean land deals.” 

The glances of the two detectives her way told Nichols that she was just as good at ferreting out the as-yet unknown as Fox Mulder. When the two of them finally connected, he suspected even Scully would be hard-pressed to follow where the pair went. 

Nichols limp-swaggered his way to the door, disabling the alarm before disengaging the locks. Unlike the larger Bureau buildings, it did not maintain twenty-four hour operations. “Shall we?” He waited for the three to precede him. “I think you know where my office is. I need to make a call from the front desk.”

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 8:51 am

Breakfast finished, Scully sipped the last of the coffee. “So, what’s on your mind, Mulder?” 

He was poking the top of the sofa back idly with his middle finger. “I just wanted to discuss how being joint Section Heads will work for us, that’s all. With everything that’s happened, we haven’t had the opportunity to plan.” 

One eyebrow arched. _You, wanting to plan? I have affected you, partner._ She nodded. “Fair is fair. We split the useless paperwork I watched you getting stuck with doing over the past year, and half the pointless meetings and reviews. It’ll be a bit more challenging because half our team will be on the West Coast, but we can switch the trips off if we need to, or we can teleconference. I’m sure the Guys can gin up a great system for our offices that will be better than anything else the Bureau has, after all the experience they’ve had building secure communications for us to Santorini. That way, we maximize the time we spend out doing actual investigations, not wasting our lives feeding the government paperwork mill.” She lifted her chin at him, waiting.

“Works for me.” Wearing his lop-sided grin, he looked over at her gratefully. “I should have expected this discussion wouldn’t bother you nearly as much as it did me, Scully. Thanks.” He drained the last of his coffee. “One more detail we need to think about, though.” 

She tucked her feet up on the cushion. “Oh?” _How long were you up worrying about this?_ She had hoped the difficult conversations were behind them. After the past week, she was looking forward to a little more unstructured time. 

He shifted his plate to the coffee table. “The green agents Skinner is finding for us to train?” 

She stared into her empty mug. “I’d rather debate the possibility of Phaster’s parole with you than that, Mulder.” When she looked over, the quiet horror gathering in his eyes had her apologizing quickly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even make a joke about that.” 

The dark-haired man shook his head. “No.” The tenor was hoarse with emotion. “Never.” He dropped his gaze for a few moments, then looked over, before he continued in a normal tone. “There’s only going to be one.”

Now, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Really? Does he have a longsword with an arched guard, or are we that unwanted, still?” 

His face lightened. “Oh, it’s all our own fault, Doctor. Skinner spoke with me this morning about it, when he was warning me off those meetings.” 

She nodded. “The nonsense with Blevins and the fallout from the hearing superseded discussing it, so I’m not surprised.” 

He grunted, trying to put those events behind them, as well. “Yeah. The candidates Matheson had wanted to bring in were a lot like Rosen, but, with the rest of the world seeing extreme possibilities, we’re no longer the only game in town, Scully.” 

She shifted to the couch; he swiveled to sit upright beside her. “Mulder, that’s good news, after all this time of us being considered nuts.” 

He sent her a jagged grin. “Yeah, it is. So, we’re down to just one, Bill Stickle, Jr.” 

She leaned forward, both eyebrows arched. “*The* Bill Stickle’s son?” 

He nodded. 

She sent him a broad smile. “Then, we’ve found ourselves a great new team member, Mulder. His Dad’s a legend down at Quantico. There were a lot of upset people when he left and went up to the Hill, like he’d given up his birthright. When does he finish his training?” 

He turned to face her. “It seems he got a special dispensation so he can pick up where he let off, with some refresher time built in. He’ll start next week, so we’ll have a month or so before he’s part of the Spooky and Pallas Brigade.” He smirked. 

While wondering if it was Matheson or Skinner or some other official in the Bureau who had been responsible for this change of procedure, the auburn-haired pathologist nibbled at the last apple slice from the tray. “It’s hardly like he needs to complete the training to be an FBI Agent.” Grateful for his compliment, even if offered in circuitous jest, she cocked a ginger brow. “So, tell me, outside of avoiding life as full-fledged government bureaucrats, what else do you have on the agenda, Mulder?” 

Knowing his message had been received, he bounced slightly on the cushions. “The winged lion strolling the C&O towpath and scaring the tourists?” His eyes glinted as they met hers. “There were some symbols in the surface levels of the documents that are starting to make sense to me, and I’d like to run them past my new Section Head, see what she thinks.” He was fidgeting with delighted anticipation.

She sent back her own glee in a full-wattage smile. “Your joint Section Head concurs.” The expression faded. “But, isn’t this the day the new issue of the Gunmen comes out? Won’t we be in the way?” 

“No, they’re delaying publication for a week. We wore them out with the containers and the scanning. Since they’re part of the forgotten arm of the Fourth Estate, they can do that, you know.” 

Standing, she gathered the plates and mugs onto the tray. “Okay, we’ll clean up and head over.”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West  
San Diego FBI Field Office  
San Diego, CA  
Wednesday, 7:31 am

Sandra had tugged the sheets free from her backpack to spread them out on the desk before Nichols had reached it. “So, what I’m wrestling with, right now, is exactly which of the sub-corporations are outside of the Osaka Collective - ” 

Nichols held up his hand. “Take a seat, please, Sandra, we’re not all here, yet.” 

Her dark eyebrows drew together. “Oh? Are we waiting for Doctor Rosen?” 

The stocky ASAC rubbed his mustache before nodding. “She’ll be here in ten minutes, Doctor Miller. Then we can get started.” 

Sandra blew out a long, perturbed breath. “That won’t help, Nichols.” 

One greying blond eyebrow arched at her dropping his title. Like her brother, it was obvious formality meant little to this woman. “Oh?”

She tossed her chestnut waves. “Andrea dropped by to discuss Evans’s retirement funds. Whittington’s firm is up to something illegal. We won’t know the details until we get the background on James Andrews and his art dealings. That’s why we don’t need to wait.” 

“Don’t need to wait for what?” Andrea Rosen spoke from the doorway before hurring over to stand by her former partner. “Sandra, Andrews may be a dead-end, literally. I’ve been trying to track him down since we spoke on Monday. He was scheduled at a major arts show in La Jolla yesterday, but he never appeared. He had posted a list of exhibitions he would be attending on his web-page, but some phone calls I’ve made indicate he had missed them all since June Third.” She pointed to the papers. “So, take your time explaining all this. These may be our only leads.” 

“Thanks, Ros.” Nichols turned to look up at her. “I’ll put a couple of my agents on checking into his activities, since both you Themyscirans agree that’s where we need to look next.”

Donato and Gonzales exchanged a glance. “Now we’ll see this move forward, Rich.” The thick-chested detective grinned, as his Latino partner nodded energetically.

Sandra eyed the younger woman with approval. Here was a mind she could work with. If her brother had made common ground with her, perhaps he was not the intellectual lightweight she had feared. She set about explaining the connections to the former partners.

As she concluded, Phil Nichols chewed his mustache before turning to the San Diego detectives. “So, did you ever run across a Doctor Isimaru or Zama in your researches?” 

Jerry Donato rose from his seat. “No, should we have?” 

Rosen, who had been propped against the window behind Nichols, crossed her arms. “His name had shown up in one of the cases Mulder and Scully investigated about three years ago. I read about him while we were in their section. A real nasty piece of work.” 

The balding Montanan grunted. “His ethical standards for his medical research were far, far below what anyone who has taken a Hippocratic oath should follow, shall we say.” He glanced up at his former partner, whose short curls bobbed once. The three who had come to see them were not yet ready to know what they knew. 

Sandra was adding a note to one of the papers. “I’ll ask around with some of my Japanese colleagues. They may be able to give me contacts inside the medical community that I can follow up on.” She eyed Jerry. “So, has this been helpful?” 

The thick-chested detective nodded. “It’s at least pointed out some new avenues of investigation we can explore, Sandra.” He turned to his partner. “Rich, shall we get going? I think the Sarge would like to be updated on this.” 

Richard Gonzales cocked a black eyebrow. “Yeah, he will.” He began to extend his hand across Nichols’s desk, bumping a leaping mustang as he did so. “Sorry.” He righted the sculpture. “So, since we know your hours, we’ll have an idea of when we can drop by, ASAC Nichols, if that’s alright with you.” 

The balding Montanan shook his head. “Normally, I’d say yes, but, Ros and I will be in DC for most of the next week.” 

The brunette astronomer drew herself erect. “A couple of our colleagues back at the Bureau are tying the knot this weekend, then Scully gets her commendation on Tuesday.” She paused while she and her former partner smiled gleefully at each other. “We’ll be in the air tomorrow. It’s hardly worth flying back until next Wednesday. We can brief Mulder and Scully fully on what you have found.” 

Sandra crossed her arms. “Commendation?” The cases she knew her brother and his partner pursued would seem to involve little positive official recognition. 

Nichols chuckled. “Jerry? Do you want to enlighten the Professor?” 

The black curls bobbed. “Remember the explosion at the Alexandria courthouse, Sandra?” 

She spun. “How could I not? It was all over the news for days.” 

The detective sidled up to the chestnut-haired woman, now motionless in the middle of the room, before he reached out to grasp her elbow. “Scully was caught in that, and she worked with the rescue crews to pull people out of the wreckage.” 

Her dark eyebrows canted. “So, where was this brother of mine?” 

Nichols crossed his arms on his desk. “On Santorini.” He held up his hand at her snort. “He was looking out for your Mother, Sandra, and Scully’s as well.” 

Andrea Rosen stepped over to her. “Although, knowing him, I’m sure, once he was aware where Scully was and what had happened to her, it took all of their persuasions to keep him from racing back to DC.” 

Sandra looked from Rosen to Nichols. “Are you saying what I think you are?” 

The balding Montanan sighed. “Not at all, Doctor Miller. Agents Mulder and Scully are law enforcement partners, exceptionally close and high-functioning, but not any other kind.” 

Jerry dropped her arm. “Like Maria and I were.” Unable to meet her startled gaze, he bit his lip. 

Sandra put a hand on his shoulder. “Jerry, I didn’t mean-” 

He shook his head. “No, most people don’t.” He stepped away from her. “I would happily have taken that bullet for Maria. If I had been just a little closer, or a few seconds faster, I could have. Losing her was...” He gaze traveled around the room, his eyes unfocused. “So, I know how your brother felt, okay?” He was out the door before his current partner could block his path.

Sandra turned to Richard Gonzales, whose own face had darkened. “What did I say?” 

The Latino detective just shook his head before hurrying out after the thick-chested man. 

“Jerry! Richard!” Sandra was after them both with her long, loping strides, her backpack draped over one shoulder. 

Outside, Donato was pacing behind the unmarked vehicle, his thumb and forefinger pressed tightly against his nose. 

Sandra passed Richard just as they both reached the front of the Ford. “Jerry?” She pulled herself still in front of him. “Jerry? I’m sorry. I know how much Maria meant to you, remember? The ceremony in the garden?” 

The Latino detective looked from one to the other. “Ceremony?” 

Sandra had grasped both of Jerry’s shoulders, but looked over at Richard. “It was a commemoration for Tom and Maria.” 

“And Evans.” Donato found he could barely speak. 

Sandra nodded. “Not that it started out that way, but, yes.” 

Gonzales jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I think I’ll go smooth things over with the Feds.” 

Jerry’s dark eyes met his gratefully. When they were alone, he stepped back, out of Sandra’s hands. “I thought you understood, Sandie.” 

She stepped up to him again. “Understood?” 

He crossed his arms. “I thought with what you told me about Tom Wilton and yourself, I wouldn’t have to constantly correct what you thought.” 

She stepped back. “Oh, that.” She swept her chestnut curls over her shoulders with one palm. “There’s just so much pressure on men and women to conform to stereotypes, it’s hard to realize other people don’t fit in neat little boxes either, even if you’ve managed to escape them.” 

He sighed. “We are who we are, Sandie.” He brushed his thumb against her chin. “Sorry.” 

Leaning against the Ford, she shook her head. “No, don’t apologize. You and Maria were your own little world, just as Tom and I were. I may have been too hasty in my assessment of my brother, Jerry. I - “ She started blinking back tears. 

“Sandie, I didn’t mean...” He grasped her shoulder. “Sandie?” 

She bit her lower lip. “Sorry. I think I need some time. Would you?” She pointed to the trunk. 

With a sigh, Donato opened it, waiting while she lifted out her bicycle. “Sandra? Won’t you need a helmet? You’ll have to take a lot of detours to avoid the rush hour traffic around 805 at this time of the morning.” 

She reached into her backpack. “Stop by the wind tunnel when you finish your shift, okay?” 

He grinned. “Sure thing, Professor.” He watched her change her shoes, strap on the helmet, then pedal away. He was sending a happy wave toward her back as Richard Gonzales and Andrea Rosen emerged from the FBI offices. 

“Hey, Old Man, you and the Professor all square?” 

He turned to them. “We are.” 

Andrea peered at Sandra’s shape, growing smaller until it disappeared behind a row of parked cars. “I have to not comment on how much she behaves like him whenever I’m around her.” 

Jerry chewed his mustache. “How long did you work with him, again?” 

“Just a bit over a year. I couldn’t begin to tell you all the strange stuff we investigated.” She shook her head. “Fascinating, but really odd. This business with Isimaru and the art is almost a walk in the park.” 

The two detectives stared at her, before Gonzales gasped. “This was easy?” 

She pushed her thumb against the side of her index finger, then shook her hand to make herself stop. “One day, soon, you’ll both find out. One day.” 

The partners exchanged a glance. “I don’t think I’ll ask, at least not yet.” Jerry began walking to the driver’s side of the tan Ford. With a nod, Andrea Rosen trotted to her Volvo, then the three headed off to start their respective days.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 10:38 am

Byers checked through the view hole in the door. “It’s Mulder and Scully, guys.” 

Langly rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of both index fingers, leaving his black hornrims canted on his face. “Oh, boy, looks like another week’s delay.” 

Frohike shook his head. “They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.” Out of long habit, he saved the article he was preparing, then powered off the screen. 

The bearded Gunman pulled at the door. “Hey, what’s up?” 

Scully stepped through the opening first. “Sorry to intrude, but, we’d like to spend some time with the scans and the few documents we kept back today.” She moved forward so her partner could enter. “We know you guys delayed your issue for us, so, we’ll just work down in the basement for a few hours, okay?” 

The long-haired Gunman nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Doc. We’ve got plenty of Java in the carafe, so, help yourselves should you need it.” 

Frohike handed over a laptop with the scans and databases on it. “We’ve disabled any networking, so this is a secure container.” 

Mulder took the black unit in both hands. “Power cord?” 

Scully had already dug one out of a box on a nearby table. “This will do.” She also held up a corded mouse. “We’ll save our fingers the strain with this.” 

Preparations concluded, the partners descended the stairs, while the three Gunman returned to their final editing.

\--o-0-o--

Fifth Floor Office  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Wednesday, 11:16 am

Chief Blevins looked over when his door opened. “You? What are you doing here?” 

The old spy began with a dark, silent glare. “How many times have I visited your office, Mister Blevins?” He grimaced. “Why, I seem to remember it like it was yesterday, leaning against this exact vertical file, while a young and oh-so-self-assured Dana Scully introduced herself to us.” He began crossing the space as he shifted to the topic he was there to discuss.

The white-haired Chief shook his head. “That insufferable woman is more of a nuisance than ever. Why didn’t you finish her when you had the chance? She was immobile and dying from that retrovirus on a gurney in a warehouse and you let her live?” 

Fingers rubbed cellophane in a pocket, then a long breath was released. _Even here, smoking was now banned._ “She continues to serve a purpose, Chief. As long as she works with Agent Mulder, we have two weapons to be deployed against our enemies.” 

Blevens rose to stalk over to him. “Stop with the riddles! Speak to me in plain English for once!” 

“I just did.” He threw the Chief another hard stare, followed by an impatient sigh. “Agent Scully is the link that keeps Mulder grounded, focused. She is the tether that binds him to reality, and, unwittingly, to the mission I have been preparing them for these past three years.” 

Blevins stepped up into his face. “Again with the riddles? What mission? What purpose did it serve to send that Fitzberwen in to disrupt yesterday’s proceedings? They were perfectly ready to turn over all of William Mulder’s documents, but, your tool lost control.” He jabbed a finger in the Smoker’s chest. “I had to order the deletion of his words on the transcript, so no one would come after you, or me.” 

A grey eyebrow cocked. “Who? I don’t know anyone named Fitzberwen.” He concluded with a knowing grimace. 

“Fagh!” Blevins stalked back around his desk to drop onto his padded chair. “So, why are you here? Tell me!” 

The old spy stood in front of the Chief’s desk. “Not for the reasons you think. All is not on the up and up with the junior members of the X-Files here. I have evidence that Agents Pendrell and Phillips were breaking and entering down on K Street, at the direction of ASAC Nichols.” 

Blevins simply glared at the papers strewn across the oak. 

A fist struck, dislodging several stacks. “Are you listening to me? There are illegalities in the operation of their merry band that need to be punished!”

Blevins rose to stalk to the door, throwing it open with a rough yank that scraped the latch across the strike-plate. “Get. Out. Running the Bureau is my business. Not yours. I’ll be happy when you are rotting behind bars. I’ll invite all your enemies to a real Tuscan celebration.” He swung his arm in a broad wave toward the hall. “Out!” 

As the Smoker left, he turned to the Chief one last time. “But, how will you be able to do that, Mister Blevins? You’ll be in the maximum security cell right next to mine.”

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 12:58 pm

“Mulder, this couldn’t be as easy as Dancing Men.” They had spent the past two hours clipping out the English words from electronic copies of the digital scans of all the documents in a single container, leaving only the astronomical symbols behind. 

He had been scribbling combinations on yellow legal pad, but stopped to look over in surprise. “Why not, Scully? Dad wasn’t a cryptographer, and we’ve determined that it uses exactly twenty-six unique characters.” He put down his pen with a loud thwap before crossing his arms. “Okay, what do you think it is?” 

She swiveled the laptop. “I think he’s trying to duplicate Enigma, Mulder, or, at least a variant on the way the Germans used it.” She pointed to the first group of symbols in the first document of the set. “See, here, eight characters.” She scrolled to the end. “Here is another eight character group.” She minimized the document, before opening another. “When we go to the second, here’s the same eight characters, and at the end, a different set of eight. What made it hard to pick up on is that the identical character transfers are out of sequence with the chronology of his hidden-ink diaries, as if these were just spaces to add information.” 

He chewed his lower lip. “It’s like that through the rest of the sequence, isn’t it?” He walked around the desk where she was working to bend over her, resting one hand on the wood surface, the other on her chair back. 

She nodded. “Knowing your Dad wanted you to see these and understand them, and you, I think I can surmise what the eight characters stand for.” She swiveled to check his face. 

He peered at the word beside the cursor. “The second, fourth, and eighth are the same.” Closing his eyes, he swallowed. “Yeah, don’t say it.” 

She grasped his wrist momentarily, then began scribbling on her own pad. “It’s actually not a bad cypher. The consonants are far enough apart we can set the pattern for the rest of the alphabet.” 

He began pacing. “Anyone who got only one of the documents would never pick that up.” 

She looked over at the steps, hoping their discussion wasn’t disturbing the men upstairs. “Anyone who didn’t know you or your family wouldn’t guess the key.” She rose to walk over to him. “Plus, in the days before easy access to computers, this would have been good enough.” 

He sent her a lop-sided grin as he patted her shoulder. “So, let’s get started. Dad left us a third set of documents to work through.” 

They settled back into their respective chairs before she sent him a full-wattage smile. “If we’re lucky, once we get the equivalences for all 26 letters in the first document determined, it will just be a matter of a linear shift between notebooks.” 

He snorted. “Otherwise, we just do the decoding all over again.”

\--o-0-o--

Loft apartment  
2620 16th Street NW  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, 8:13 pm

Dafydd ap Gwinn leaned back in his chair. Despite the encoding the Forty used with each other when communicating on the Outside, he wanted his words to his Brother, the Pict, to be exceedingly clear. He scrolled back to the top of his message.

\--o-0-o--

We are many, we are One.

Our great matter may be drawing to a close. The heaviness that descended on my Heart when the Quaestores laid the chalk banner on the Riata’s seat may soon be lifting. 

While I will be returning to my estate soon, and will be out of touch, I will be meeting next week with the son of our no-longer-lost Atrebates. His partner, however, will be of deep interest to both of us. We have ridden the currents of time, you and I, so we know whom we seek. I believe we have found her. Justice and fairness are in her bones, as they were with our lost Sister. I have been reading on her past, since I found out she existed, in our on-line genealogical archive. Her Father’s side is distinguished, from Cork. Her Mother’s side, however, is from Islay, and is descended from Óengus Mór mac Eirc. By measures new and old, I believe her to be the Riata. After I meet her and am certain, we can discuss beginning recruitment. 

On a different matter, please tell me how your Bill for adding Gaelic and Welsh literature to private school curricula is coming. You’ve passed the Second Reading, I believe? 

More as I have it, 

We are many, we are One.

\--o-0-o--

With a sigh, he dropped the file on the encrypt icon, then waited. His Honored Brother would find this ready for him when he awoke, so he could, himself, retire. The next week would be the turning point, or, so he hoped, for all the Forty’s troubles.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 8:47 pm

Byers slid the last article into place on the screen. “That’s it, gentlemen. We can send out the issue today, if we want.” 

Langly nodded. “We can keep the trust of our readers, at least.” 

Frohike eyed the doorway to the basement. “They’ve been quiet as mice for the past few hours down there.” 

“Ooh, yeah, that’s it, Doctor! There, that fits!” The intensity floating up from below had the three exchanging glances. 

Frohike shook his head at two pairs of bulging eyes. “Nah.” He trotted to the top of the stairs to descend. “Mulder, Scully, you need more paper for that printer?” 

The partners were at opposite ends of the room. Scully was lifting sheets out of the Laserjet they had borrowed a few hours earlier; Mulder, standing on a chair, was taping the last page from a previous set in a square on the wall. The tall agent stepped down, then leaped over to take Frohike by the elbow. “Fro! We know the real names of the old men in New York. Dad had secreted the details of their activities in the hidden texts, and encrypted their identities, professions, and addresses in the astronomical symbols.” 

Grasping her pages, Scully moved between them. “We know their careers outside of the Consortium, how they all functioned.” She laid the top three sheets along the edge of the table where she had been working. “This is the Smoking Man, we think.” She ran a finger under two words. “He is never given an actual name, just this title: Praefectus urbis, which, for the Romans, was a legal official who presided when the king or the consuls were absent, or when no leader was chosen.” 

The round-faced Gunman nodded. “So, he was a law onto himself. Considering what we know of his actions over the last few years, that fits, too.” 

Mulder bent over them both. “Yeah, and so do the initials. But, that probably wasn’t intentional.” 

Frohike stepped back to scan the walls, all covered with paper. “This is how much you’ve gotten done today?” He waved his hands. “All this?” 

Standing side by side, the agents nodded. 

“Mom always refers to him as ‘Her Mystery Man,’ and now we know why.” The long fingers waggled at the sheets on the walls. 

Scully crossed her arms. “But, it’s only two of the containers. With a lot more time, we could work out the rest of what Bill Mulder wanted Mulder to know.”

The round faced-Gunman frowned. “Do you guys have any idea how late it is?” 

The tall agent checked the dial on his wrist. “Oh. No.” He cocked his head at his partner. “So, when you mentioned being hungry about three documents ago, Scully, there was a good reason.” 

She twisted his arm to read the watch-face. “Oh.” She stared up into his twinkling eyes. “We were having too much fun doing this.” 

Grinning, Mulder nodded. 

“Fro?” Langly took two steps down the stairs to peer over the railing. “Oh, man! Doc! G-man!” His eyes widened as they swept over the walls. “You guys have been productive. You want to hang around for some Generous George’s? We’ll get one veg, Doc. We’ve gotten the issue out on time, and it looks like a basement redecoration as well. Cool!” 

One corner of Scully’s lips quirked. “Extra pesto, a Caesar, and I’ll be good, guys.”

\--o-0-o--

Matheson Residence  
Kalorama, Washington, DC  
Wednesday, 9:01 pm

Walter Skinner nodded to the uniformed man who opened the door. “I’m here to speak with the Senator. He’s expecting me. Walter Skinner.” 

A stiff-armed wave ushered him in. “The FBI Director. Yes. Follow me, please.” 

His arm around his wife’s waist, Richard Matheson was at the foot of the stairs. “Katie, I’ll be up in a minute.” He kissed her cheek gently, his eyes following her as she ascended, then he turned to his bespectacled visitor before extending his hand. “Walt? To what do I owe the pleasure? I trust the drive back from Quantico was not too taxing?” He waved him to a pair of seats in the walnut-paneled annex.

The Assistant Director raised his chin. “I wanted to update you on yesterday’s hearing, Rich.” 

The smile faded. “Yes, I heard. The old man sent in Fitzberwen. He must take the documents Mulder and Scully uncovered very seriously indeed.” He sent over a startled glance. “They *did* turn them in, correct?” 

Skinner offered a single nod in response. “I’ve been assured they took every precaution to archive and confirm all the documents and their contents.” 

The Senator leaned forward to check the hallway, where his attendant had just passed the entrance for the third time. “Let’s step outside, Walter. It’s not too hot, yet.” 

Once they had relocated to a pair of wrought-iron deck chairs, the bald Director relayed the events both before and during the hearing. 

Matheson narrowed his eyes at the waving day lilies ringing the circular patio before facing the AD. “Agent Scully was not seriously injured? Her leadership is as vital to the future of the X-Files as is her partner’s.” 

Skinner set his teeth. “No.” Remembering the doubled-over blond man staggering out of the hearing room, he shook his head. “Agent Scully gave as good as she got. Agent Mulder separated them before she could do *him* permanent harm.” 

“With Doctor Scully, I would have expected no less.” Matheson turned on the seat. “Sharp agents. Both of them. The Bureau is fortunate to have such diligent and thorough investigators.”

The Assistant Director eyed his grey-haired host. “Rich, I’ll be certain to pass your compliments along. But, you have more than this on your mind, I’m certain.” 

The Senator leaned back before crossing his legs at the ankles. “Leave Fitzberwen to me. With only Stickle coming on-board here on the East Coast, it’s time we brought in allies we can trust.” 

“Oh?” 

Matheson slid a card out of his pocket to hold out for the bald Director. “Walt, this is the contact information for Charles Herrod.” He paused while Skinner pocketed the paper. “He’s a U.S. Marshal. With the instability in the Shadow Organizations we need to expose, we’re crossing into dangerous territory here. Charles has been a friend of mine for decades. I’ve already spoken to him, and he has someone on his staff who will be a great benefit to us. Young, dedicated, extremely sharp. He doesn’t need to interface with Mulder and Scully, at least not yet. You can brief him on what he needs to know, then he should be set loose to follow his nose. You’ll be surprised what he finds.” He offered a genuine smile. “Trust me on that, Walt.”

The Assistant Director straightened in his chair. “Rich, the commendation ceremony for Scully is this coming Tuesday.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it, for any reason. Not only has she earned it, more than thrice over, but, we need to send a message to the dark powers out there: we are coming for you, at all levels of government.” The Senator sat up straight as well. “My country has spent too much of her people’s treasure on armament and secrecy. It is time for America to begin to live up to its promise to lead the nations of the world with wisdom toward justice and the light.” 

Walter Skinner studied the older man carefully. There was no trace of dissimulation, no tacking between constituent positions, just direct, honest truth. This was why he had chosen to go to any lengths to restore Mulder’s contact with the Senior Senator from Virginia, he realized. It would bring the America he had defended as a Marine fully into being, becoming more than high-flown words inscribed on marble up and down the wide avenues of the District. “Very, well, Rich. I shall have the necessary arrangements made for your security. We have several ambassadors and their staff attending as well.” 

Matheson shifted to his feet. “Well, I think that about covers it for tonight. Give my best to your lovely Sharon, alright?” 

Knowing the discussion was over, the Assistant Director rose, then extended his hand. “I’ll keep you informed, Sir.” 

The Senator patted his guest’s shoulder. “Not Sir, Walt. Just Rich. We’ve been working together long enough that we don’t need any formality.” 

After the door had closed behind him, Walter Skinner sighed. At least that bit of business was concluded. His own home was almost too far away, but he knew his lovely Sharon was indeed waiting up for him. He unlocked his car, then slid behind the wheel. At least this late at night, there would be no back-ups to speak of, so he might make it home in a half an hour, if the traffic lights were cooperative.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 10:39 pm

“So, that’s all you want?” Frohike dropped a crust on his paper plate before wiping his fingers individually on an over-sized napkin. “We could do that tomorrow.” The five were crowded around the table in the kitchen, rather than scarfing the pizza from odd locations in the living room or workshop. 

Langly and Byers both nodded. 

Mulder swallowed the bite of pepperoni he had been chewing. “But, it would have to be reliable, and secure. We don’t know every group that would want to listen in.” 

The blond hair bobbed. “Hey, for you two, would we do anything else? Besides, we’d keep upgrading it regularly. Doctor Rosen can handle the work in San Diego, and the Doc can keep up the hardware here. With the free-for-all maintenance schedules under government deregulation, I’d rather the pair of you were on terraferma as much as possible.”

After swallowing a forkful of romaine, Scully checked her partner’s gaze. “Given who’s back in power, staging the crash of an airliner full of innocents just to get one or both of us would be right up his alley.” 

Five sober faces exchanged glances, before, in an effort to lighten the mood, the bearded Gunman leaned forward. “Mulder, remember, next Friday.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist turned to her partner. “What’s next Friday?” 

He smirked. “’Five Million Years to Earth,’ Scully. It’s a tradition left over from my days at Oxford. A bunch of my buddies from the colonies and I would watch it at the end of Trinity Term to celebrate the close of the school year, which was always around this time.” 

Byers grinned. “After we met Mulder, we started it up again. We set up a projector to watch it on an actual screen from film, not videotape.”

“Never videotape.” Langly frowned. “With you two either on a case or recovering from one, it’s been hard to arrange a time the past few years.”

Frohike leaned over the table toward Scully. “London, Hobbs End, buried flying saucers in the Underground, grasshopper alien ancestors from Mars, gorgeous red-haired lady doctors. What’s not to love?” 

“Hey, now she won’t want to join us, Fro.” Mulder wagged a long finger at him. 

Scully tossed her head. “A flotilla of silver cylinders wouldn’t keep me away.” She peered at her partner’s watch. “We should probably head out soon, Mulder. When will Maria be here?” 

The dark eyebrows drew together. “Let me give her a call.” Cell phone on his ear, he stepped into the workshop. When he returned, he bent over his partner’s shoulder. “Ten am, she says.” 

Three pairs of eyes were regarding him questioningly, before the bearded Gunman coughed once. “Mulder?” 

“Maria Alvarez is visiting.” 

Frohike pushed the plate away. “Oh, from the rest retreat? Is everything okay?” 

Scully nodded. “We hope so, or that it will be when she leaves.” After checking her partner’s face, she looked from one to the other of the Gunmen. “It’s nothing to do with your systems, so, don’t worry.” 

Langly shook his head. “Doc, now we’ll do nothing but.” 

Mulder shrugged. “I’ve been remembering things about my sister. She’s going to help me work through them before I head out to San Diego.” He checked his watch again, then turned to the auburn-haired pathologist. “We should get going, Scully.” 

Packing up the remains of the salad and the veggie pizza, missing a single slice, the Agents prepared to leave. 

“Thanks, for everything, guys.” The auburn-haired pathologist was tucking her notes into her compartmented backpack. 

Langly stood at the entrance. “Doc, G-man, take the laptop.” He held it out. “We’re archived in multiple places, but one more won’t hurt.” 

She slid the black case into a front pocket. “No problems, no unexpected visits?” 

Byers joined them. “No, none. So, it’s likely the Shadows didn’t know what Mister Mulder had worked up.” 

The tall agent joined them, then placed a hand on Scully’s spine. “Yeah, I think we’ve used the Doctor’s logic to solve that one.” 

Once the partners were out the door, Frohike stepped over to Byers. “I wonder when we’ll find out what that was all about.” 

“We won’t.” Langly shook his blond head. “Not unless there’s a problem they can’t un-riddle on their own.” The three fell into a heated discussion of the Hammer Studio Frankenstein series versus the Dracula series, which took up the rest of the evening hours, with Frohike holding out for ‘One Million Years B. C.’

\--o-0-o--

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, CA  
Wednesday, 7:32 pm

“Pass me the BNC crimp tool. Thanks.” 

Jerry Donato smiled at the words floating through the open lab door. Sandra Miller was in her element, finally, assembling, he could only surmise, an interconnect board for one of her wind sensors. His foot caught on three parallel runs of black cable, each about six inches apart, strung along the length of the facility. 

“Hey, watch yourself!” A turbaned head poked around the far end of the wind tunnel. “Detective Donato!” Now, the face appeared over the top of the outflow chamber. “There has not been another murder, Sir, has there?” The black eyebrows canted anxiously. 

Sandra’s long fingers grasped Anwar’s slight shoulder. “Not at all. I asked him to drop by on a different matter at the end of his shift.” 

The Pakistani nodded before heading into the control room. 

After a slight click, Sandra stepped from behind the tunnel herself to trot over to him. “We were laying out new cable runs to the control room. Don’t worry, you haven’t damaged anything.” When she reached his side, she set the tools she had been carrying on one of the already-burdened workbenches beside Donato. “Thanks.” 

He chewed his mustache. “So, why did you want me to stop by, Sandie? Do you have more ideas about Evans?” 

Her one-sided grin faded. “No, I had to do some thinking about my brother, and I knew a day assembling racks and running cables would give me the chance to let my subconscious work.”

The thick-chested detective leaned close to her. “So, what has your inner mind decided?” 

She shifted the tools idly. “I need to speak with Agent Scully. She knows him better than anybody else, based on what Nichols and Rosen have told me.” 

He grunted. “Why not go to the source, Sandie? Why not speak with him directly?” 

The hazel narrowed as she regarded the black curls. “I don’t know.” 

Now, he closed his fingers over her palm. “It can be hard for adult children, Sandra. I’ve spoken with the staff psychologist at Headquarters, and if you’d like to set up a session with him, I’d be happy to take you.” 

Her gaze dropped to the concrete, the red floor paint scratched and scuffed. “Perhaps we should do that.” The words emerged as breath.

Donato had to force down the urge to hug her fiercely. If she could just take a few steps forward, perhaps Tom Wilton’s untimely death would bring them both unexpected rewards. “Okay. I’ll check with him in the morning. Is there something I can do to help you two?” He held up his free hand. “Not the delicate stuff, but lifting or moving?” 

She met his gaze happily. “Yes, there is.” She turned to call into the control room. Once Anwar had joined them, she began pointing and pacing, her energies free to focus on the facility. “There is a portable crane that needs assembling, but it will take more than just the three of us.” 

Sandra began calling other graduate students, while Donato tapped the speed-dial for his partner.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, June 11, 1998  
9:51 am

Maria Alvarez smoothed down her hair before knocking on the white wooden surface. She had no idea what to expect would be waiting on the other side, just that she wanted the man there to find his way out of the nightmare of his past. It was a relief, then, to see it was his diminutive partner who was holding the doorknob, who stepped back to let her in. “Hello, Dana.” 

Scully waved her toward the sofa. “I’ll get Mulder.” 

The black-haired psychologist grasped her arm as she turned. “Dana, first, let me thank you for this.” She waited for the agent to face her. “Fox means a very great deal to me.” 

One auburn brow arched. “Then you will do right by him, Maria, which is why I wanted him to contact you. If anyone deserves a little happiness out of a horrible childhood such as he had, it’s my partner.” She studied the oak boards for a moment. “He’s my closest friend.” The soft words escaped the pathologist, seemingly without her conscious awareness. 

Maria nodded. “He told me a little about his life before Samantha was taken, but we didn’t have the time to discuss it properly.” 

Scully glanced toward her kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? It’s been a long trip.” 

The black hair swayed. “No, just your facilities. I’ve had enough coffee.” 

A crease formed in a slight cheek. “Sorry, Maria, I should have thought. I’m on the road with Mulder so much I know what it’s like to be, shall we say, desperate, sometimes.” 

They chuckled together now, their shared experiences with their mutual friend binding them, before Scully waved at the hall. “First door on your left.” 

When Maria emerged, the partners were perched on the sofa, his left hand engulfing her right one. “Fox.” 

A glance toward the auburn-haired pathologist, before he stood to hug her tightly. “Maria.” 

The black-haired psychologist, almost as petite as Scully, settled into the deep cushions of the armchair, laying out her notes and records from Mulder’s short stay at the retreat. “Okay, Fox.” One dark eyebrow arched at the slight pursing of his lips, then she shook her head. “You know more people than your sister will be calling you that, now.” 

His hooded eyes canted toward his partner. “Yeah, I guess.” 

The Latina sighed. “For this session, I’ll respect your choice. Anything to help you get ready to see your Samantha again.” 

An involuntary tick distorted the right side of his face. 

Maria scrambled to her feet. “Mulder, is this what you were concerned about? Is this what you couldn’t tell me? What is it about Samantha?” She gasped at the shudder that possessed him. 

“Yes.” He forced the affirmation out through clenched teeth. “This.” 

The black-haired woman looked over to Scully, who had moved her right hand to his shoulder while allowing him to grip her left. “How long has this been happening?” 

The green-blue eyes that met hers were liquid with worry. “Since a week ago. We were on our way to Massachusetts to investigate Bill Mulder’s death. What neither of us can understand is, why now? Back on Santorini, Mulder and Caroline were using her name frequently, with great hope and anticipation. Even on the plane back home, there were no reactions like these.” The hand on his shoulder began rubbing his back. “Mulder, let it go. We’re here. You’re safe.” 

His arms crossed against his stomach, he stared down at the rug under the coffee-table. “I couldn’t let anyone see this but Scully, until now. You know some of what we’re up against.” The expression he shot her was agony. “I, no, Scully-” He looked to his partner momentarily for affirmation. “-found an entry in a diary of my Dad’s.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist lifted a printout from her pocket to extend to Maria. “This also triggered as strong a reaction as I’ve seen from him.” 

After unfolding the paper, Maria scanned the words, then gasped. “Mulder, Dana, this is beyond my experience.” She reached for his wrist. “I understand why you didn’t want to say anything about this over the phone, but, deliberate conditioning like this calls for a deprogrammer.” 

“No!” The roar of horror and desperation had her leaning back. “I don’t have that kind of time.” He whispered, “We don’t.” 

The black-haired psychologist knelt now, taking his face in both her hands. “Mulder. Fox. I don’t want to make this worse.” 

He grasped both her wrists. “Try. Please. I trust you.” He was pale and shaking. 

She slid her palms off his cheeks. “Okay. We’ll do one session.” Lifting her dark eyes to his hazel ones, then to Scully’s green-blue, her voice assumed a sternness she rarely used. “But only one. More than that, and I’m in violation of my oath.” 

The slight right hand grasping his shoulder again, the auburn-haired pathologist nodded. “I understand, believe me. That’s all we can ask, Maria.” 

“Okay.” The black-haired psychologist resumed her seat, waiting while the tall agent’s breath evened out. When he was calm, his partner released his shoulder, then Maria leaned forward. “Mulder, you know how this works. I’m going to ask you to take several deep breaths.” She waited, counting through twelve before his respiration slowed enough for her to feel comfortable proceeding. “Now, lean back against the sofa cushions. Just relax and close your eyes.” 

He complied, reaching for his partner’s fingers as he did so. 

Maria shook her head. “Mulder, let go.” 

He frowned, but spread his palm flat on the cushions. 

Scully slid away an inch or so. “I’m right here, Mulder. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A slight twitch of his head toward her, then, his shoulders slumped. 

“Now, rest you head on the sofa back.” 

He settled. 

“Slow breaths, In. Out. In. Out.” She continued until he was limp. “Mulder, can you hear me?” 

“Yes.” The whisper was free-floating. 

“Good.” Her eyes flicked to the date on the page. “It’s early June 1974. Tell me where you are.” 

“At my Dad’s.” He twitched. 

“Mulder, is school in or out?” She hoped her quick response would keep him focused.

“Out. I have to stay here for a month. On the Fourth, I can go back to Mom’s.” The matter-of-factness, as if this was normal for every child, stunned her. 

“Do you have friends close to your Dad’s?” 

“No.” 

“So no one visits you?” 

“No.” 

“No one?” 

“No.” 

“But did someone come to get you?” She leaned forward. “To take you someplace?” 

“Yes.” He shuddered. 

“Mulder, deep breaths. In. Out.” 

After a few respirations, he calmed. 

“Mulder, I want you to see what happens next as if it were on a movie screen, alright? You’re not there. It’s just happening to someone who looks like you.” Settling against the cushions, she licked her lips. “Can you do that?” 

He grimaced. “No.” 

She slid to the edge of her seat. “Mulder, just see it on the screen.” 

His head rocked, but his eyes stayed closed. “I can’t. It happened.” He jerked. “To me.” His breathing became ragged. “I can’t go to Sam. They won’t let me. They know where she is. I beg and beg, but they won’t let me, or even tell me.” He was shivering now. “They want me to forget her.” He jerked again, his right hand gripping the cushions, “But, I can’t so I fight back.” The shaking continued. “It hurts. I can’t ever forget her. She’s my sister.” 

Maria was on her knees again. “Mulder, what hurts? Tell me.” 

He tried to raise his right hand. “It’s in a strap. If I tell them I won’t forget my own sister, it burns.” He shifted the palm against his stomach defensively. “I can remember her as long as I keep quiet. At least I know she’s still out there. But I have to keep quiet.” A tear ran down his left cheek. “Why are they doing this? She’s my sister. Why did they take her? Why not me?” 

The black-haired psychologist gaze searched Scully’s face. Tears were beginning to overflow onto the diminutive agent’s cheeks as well. She was biting her lower lip, desperately trying to keep quiet. The psychologist took the slight hand in hers, bringing the green-blue gaze from her partner’s face to her own. When they met, Maria found her own emotions were also roiling. She was astonished, yet again, that such different people as these two had come to think as almost one. She turned her attention back to the dark-haired man. 

“Mulder, can you see this on the screen?” 

“No.” He crossed both arms over his stomach. “There’s no screen. Just them. All of them. Staring at me like I’m a freak.” He twitched. “If I say nothing, maybe they’ll let me go.” 

“Go where, Mulder? Where?” 

“Back to my Dad’s. Or, my Mom’s. If I don’t say anything, maybe they’ll let me go.” He was biting his lip and gasping. “Why? Why this? All I want is Sam back. I won’t forget her, no matter how much they want me to. Why is that wrong?” 

“Okay, Mulder. Okay. You’re home now. You’re not with them anymore. You’re at your Dad’s again. You’re back home.” 

His breathing evened out, then he relaxed slightly. “But, I’m not home. Home is Sam. She’s never coming home. She’s alive, but she’s never coming home. Dad.” He lifted his hand. “Dad doesn’t understand. Dad! No!” He doubled over. “Please! No!” 

Maria clapped her hands once. “Okay. That’s enough. This is torture.” 

His eyes flew open as he sat up, looking frantically to his partner. “Scully? What happened?” 

She slid to his side to begin rubbing circles in his shoulder. “Mulder? What do you remember? Anything? Anything at all?” 

He reached for her wrist, latching on desperately, before the shuddering started again. “All of it. The faces.” He tucked his right hand under his left arm as he collapsed into her lap. “It hurts so much.” He pulled up his knees until he was huddled on the cushions.

Maria heard the sound of quiet sobbing, baffled as to the source until she realized it came both from the flame-haired woman bent over his back and herself. 

As she watched, Scully forced her own grief and fear under control as she began soothing him with her low, soft alto and her fingers, stroking his back from shoulder to waist. “It’s okay, Mulder. It’s okay. We’re both here, you’re safe.” He began relaxing, quieting. 

The black-haired psychologist waited until she could speak calmly. “Mulder.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Can you tell us more?” 

He nodded, reluctantly shifting upright, away from his partner. “Yeah.” He blinked at them both. “I think I understand.” He looked down at his right palm. “They were conditioning me.” 

The slight fingers remained on his shoulder. “With electrical shocks, Mulder. You said it was burning, but you don’t have scars. Did you recognize any of the faces? Were any of them the men with your Father at the Strughold mine?” 

His dark eyebrows drew together. “No, I don’t recognize any of them, Scully.” He turned to her. “Not from that photograph, not from when I was at the Origin Place.” 

Maria frowned. “Origin Place? What do you mean?” 

But the tall agent no longer heard the voices of the present. “Why? I was supposed to forget Sam? Why? All so I can never say her name again?” He looked, his pupils unfocused, from one woman to the other. “What?” 

The Latina patted his knee. “You just did, Mulder.” 

He rubbed his face with both hands. “Okay. That’s something.” 

Maria turned to Scully. “Do you have any recent photographs?” 

The auburn-haired pathologist gripped her partner’s knee for a moment, then stepped away. She dug through his backpack, taking a packet from the front pocket. When she returned, she handed one over to him. 

“Look, and say her name.” The psychologist wrapped herself in all her professional detachment as she issued the quiet command. 

The hazel dropped to the stiff paper. “Sam.” He twitched. 

The two women exchanged a sorrowing glance, before Scully covered his hand with her own. “Mulder. You know what was done. Can you try again?” 

“Samantha.” His shudder was followed by a stifled sob. “Will this never be over?” 

Maria found her feet. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let this go on any longer.” She bent down to take both his hands. “Fox, you need help. More than I can offer. Perhaps now you can see.” 

A desperate stare, then he was out of his partner’s grasp, on his feet. “Maria, please, I have to know.” He caught her by the wrist. “Please. We have to try again.” 

The black-haired woman shook her head. “Mulder. Fox. This will damage you. That would be a violation of everything I hold to be ethical.” 

He fell to his knees. “Maria, please. This is about her. Please.” 

Scully stepped up beside him, grasping the back of his neck. “Mulder. Do you think you can handle this?” 

He swiveled. “I have to. I just have to.” 

She helped him to his feet. “I’ll go along with this on one condition.” 

He was motionless in front of her. “What, Scully, what?” 

One auburn brow cocked. “The condition you made me agree to. That I get to stop this if I think it’s going too far.” She tipped her face up to meet his downward-looking one. “Will you keep to that agreement? Will you?” 

He offered a single bob of his head. 

She looked over at Maria. “Will you?” 

“Of course, Dana. You could stop this right now. You *should* stop this right now.” 

Scully curled her fingers over the crook of his arm, her gaze turned up to his. “Mulder was there for me when I was remembering what happened when I was taken, Maria. He was the *only* one there for me, not my Mother, not my brothers. I’m his partner. By any measure, it would be wrong of me not to do the same for him.” 

Once the three were settled, the psychologist stepped him through relaxation and breathing. “Okay, Mulder. Those men are all staring at you. What happened next?” 

He was cradling his right palm again. “Sam is here.” He reached out with both hands, grasping at air. “Sam! Sam! It’s Fox.” His arms fell to his lap. “She’s here.” His right hand twitched. “No! Please. Let me take her home. Take her to Mom.” Both arms extended, he was trying to pull someone into an embrace. “Sam? Sam? It’s Fox. Remember me? Remember?” Tears fell as he began shaking all over. “Why doesn’t she remember me?” His eyes still closed, he looked to his left, into emptiness. “Dad? She’s right here! Why can’t we take her home?” His right hand jerked again. “Dad? Why are you letting them do this! Don’t let him take her away!” He choked on a sob. “Please, Sir, please, don’t take her. Let me take her to Mom. Just for a little while.” He began shuddering. “No, please! I won’t say her name again. Please. I’ll forget! Just let her stay. Please!” He curled into a ball. 

Scully’s low alto broke the spell. “That’s it, Maria. That’s all. No more.” She guided her partner’s head onto her lap. “Mulder. Mulder, wake up. Come back to me. Come back.” Her urgent whisper was almost as soft as the gentle circles her palm was tracing on his shoulder. 

“Scull-lee?” He blinked, looking up at her. “You saw, didn’t you? You saw?” 

She nodded. Logic and reason were not tools she could deploy, as she normally would, at this moment. Her partner was too vulnerable. “Mulder. I saw. I could never believe a Father would do that to his children, but I do now. Shh.” She began stroking his short hair. “You’re safe. You’re on my striped, itchy sofa. Remember that. Shh.” 

Maria Alvarez looked from Scully to Mulder. He was quiet, breathing easily, his right hand tucked between his left arm and his side, his eyes fixed on his partner’s. “Then, I think we know what we need to know, Fox, Dana.” 

The auburn-haired agent impatiently flicked the wetness from her eyes with her fingertips, then resumed soothing him, her small hand on his forehead. “Yes. The reprogramming was not to make you forget, Mulder. It was the one truth he put in his diary, it was to set a final barrier to your reunion. Which is where we are right now, and why it is happening, now.” She began breathing heavily. “Your Father? Your own Father! What was he so afraid of that he did this to you? To her?” No longer able to tamp down her own horror, a single tear escaped to splash on his cheek, making him blink.

He dropped his feet to the floor, sat up, then, in a fluid clutch, pressed her against his chest. With his chin tucked over her auburn hair, the partners each worked to set their sorrows aside, to return to the present, not stay trapped in the past. When he felt her steady, then pat his arm, he leaned away before cocking his head down to see her face. She nodded, so they exchanged shaky, tight smiles. 

Finding he could speak again, he mustered a flat comment. “My Dad wasn’t a stricken bystander, as he pretended all those years.” He scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand. “He didn’t just passively take Christina Knox’s choice. He was involved in all the early reprogramming of both me and my sister. He was too ashamed to admit it, even in the diary, even to himself.” He looked over at Scully. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me find this. Now, I know.” 

The partners locked eyes, then she curled her fingers around his right hand to rub the palm with her thumb, before releasing him to straighten where he sat. “I think we know a bit more, Mulder. You said you didn’t know the men who were there. We knew Deep Throat helped protect her after the Silverbergs were killed. I’m thinking he was there earlier, taking her away from all this, keeping her from the worst of it. He was only trying to help you both, through the years. He had been watching you for years, you said he told you before he was killed.” 

Her logic steadying him now, he nodded. 

Befuddled by the conversation, Maria leaned forward to grasp his wrist. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. You never deserved any of this, Fox. Never.” She began gathering her bag and notes. “I can’t do any more. It would only hurt you, not heal you. I’ll put you in touch with some people who might be able to help.” She met both their eyes. “But, it *will* take time.” She handed a page of names from his folder to Scully. “Try any of the first three. They are used to deprogramming kidnapping victims, which is what Fox essentially was. Let me know before you call and I’ll contact them to give them the details of the case.” She dropped one hand on his thick hair. “I want this to be over for you, too, Fox. I’ll show myself out.” 

Scully rose. “Maria, you’ve been more help than you know. Are you sure you don’t want to stay for lunch now?” 

As they walked to the door, the black-haired woman shook her head. “I need to get back to my patients, Dana.” When the door opened, she pulled the pathologist into a hug. “Take care of yourselves, both of you, okay?” She looked from one to the other. 

Scully partially turned toward the man who was still numbly hunched on the sofa. “That’s the only way we can get through, Maria.” 

The door latch clicked behind the psychologist as she forced back tears at her utter failure to help this solemn, vulnerable man. She made it out to her Jeep Cherokee before breaking down, her head resting on the hands gripping the steering wheel. Once she had steadied herself, she turned over the ignition, then drove away. There was nothing more she could do here, either as a doctor or as a friend.

\--o-0-o--

Fenleyding, Northumbria  
Thursday, 4:49 pm

Alex Krycek looked up from the monitor to the white-haired man sitting a few feet away. “How on earth did you keep this organization, with so many connections all over the world, a secret for so long?” He had spent the past few days reading over the history of the Forty. Now he found he could no longer contain his admiration, or his envy. 

The Suebi chuckled. “High places, my young friend.” He rose to cross the Isfahan carpet before dropping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Your Organizations are sieves compared to us.” He began ambling slowly around the room. “We did not make the mistake your groups did, of inflicting ourselves on innocents, outside of in the most innocuous programs of education and charity. No, we went directly to power, to offer knowledge.” His smile was feral. “My Blessed Riata showed the way. No one questions a free jacket, or a warm bowl of soup, when cold, hungry, or a refugee. But, a lost sister, a dying spouse, a cancer-riddled mother, all those mysterious disappearances? How long did your people think they could keep that up?” 

The dark-haired man pushed the antique walnut seat aside to stand. “But, we have power! We are feared!” He cringed before the cold glare. “I can show you!” He was up and down the stairs before the Suebi could carefully reposition the chair. Krycek thrust a stack of papers into his hand. “Read this! Read through it. You’ll see.” 

A snort issued from a long nose. “Very well. You’ve been trying to get me to read your documents since you arrived here. These are all tape transcriptions your code talker made before his unexpected and untimely death?” 

Now, it was Krycek’s turn to chortle. “Exactly. The FBI would have been so much further ahead if they had not been divided and distrusting.” He crossed his arms, waiting while the old man found his reading glasses, then settled into a wing-backed armchair.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, 11:53 am

The partners were seated side-by-side, the paper with the list of names lying on the coffeetable. He pointed at the sheet. “We can’t afford the time, Scully. Sam.“ He was shivering again. “Sam.” He fell to his knees, then felt his partner’s palm on his cheek. 

_This might work._ The auburn-haired pathologist commanded quietly, “Say her name, Mulder.” 

He frowned up at her. “I can’t.” 

Now, she knelt as well, dropping her hands to his shoulders. “Say her name. Say the name she chose for herself.” This was desperation speaking, she knew, but she could not bear to see him suffering, not when they were so close to closure for him. 

He bent double, his teeth chattering. “I can’t. She’ll always be Sam.” He flopped bonelessly onto the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, his face in the carpet. 

She sprawled flat on her stomach, gripping him by the cheeks to force him to look at her. “You said, back on Santorini, that you wanted to get to know the woman she had become, not the little girl you lost.” She pushed the coffee table away, then guided them both into a sitting position, she holding him upright by both shoulders. “Remember? That’s the key.” 

The thoughts becoming a lifeline, he reached to grip her arms. “Yes.” The word blew out as breath, not voiced, as he locked onto her green-blue gaze. 

Her reply was in wisps in the air. “Then, say it, Mulder. Say her name, the only one she wants.” 

“Sam-dra.” The muscles clenched. “Samnnndra.” He straightened. “Sandra.” The urgency of the unconscious prohibition weakened. “Sandra.” His voice was steady. 

She released him, but rested her palm against his cheek. “Now, say it all.” 

“Sandra Ann Miller.” There were hitches before the first and last names, but it was enough. He fell limply against her lap, gasping. “Sandra, my sister.” He felt something deep in his nightmares shatter into tiny fragments. “My sister. I can see my sister.” He began sobbing, long shuddering aches tearing him. 

Spent herself, Scully wrapped him tightly in her arms, bending double over his shoulders. It wasn’t a cure, but, from here, perhaps, her partner was free to begin healing from the horrors in his past. Perhaps, he could begin to find a little peace.

\--o-0-o--

U. S. Marshal’s Headquarters  
Arlington, VA  
Thursday, 11:12 am

Charles Herrod, his curls more grey than brown, waved a tall man with straight black hair to the seat beside the balding Director. “Don Tapping, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner.” 

The bespectacled AD sized up the slender Marshal before him. The younger man’s somber demeanor had him dispensing with pleasantries. “You know why I’m here?” 

Tapping checked Herrod’s face before responding. “Yes. The Senator told us there is a matter on which you need our assistance. What can we do for the Bureau that it can’t do for itself?” 

Skinner ignored the unspoken barb as he took off his glasses. “This is a matter larger than any agency, Marshal Tapping. You should understand that before we go any further.” 

Herrod’s chair creaked. “We do, Sir, we do.” He finished with a glare at the younger man. 

The Director set his teeth. “There is an Organization with several branches working within the Federal Government that needs to be revealed and dismantled.” 

Tapping shifted impatiently. “That your Agents Mulder and Scully have already begun to expose, quite successfully, I might add.” 

Herrod found his feet to walk around his desk. “But, just two people can disappear, Don, you know that. One agency can’t go it alone, not anymore. We know these groups have extensive air, land, and sea networks to transport contraband and medical experiments.” 

“Yes, we do.” Tapping reached into his briefcase, then held a document out for the Assistant Director to take. 

As Skinner took it, his eyes fell on the younger man’s wrist, where a rising sun tattoo with twenty wavy rays, no larger than a dime, resided. He barely heard the Marshal’s next words, “We’ve tracked them over the years, as you can see from this report.” 

Since the bald man was motionless, deep in thought, Tapping took the document back to open it at a map of the continental US, extending the foldouts to display the details. “Here we have the locations of the bases we have uncovered.” 

Skinner roused himself to peruse the image, then gasped. Every one of the bases he had visited or worked in when in the Organization was marked out on the map, as well as several he hadn’t. The now-missing Tyrell Saunders was aware of them all, no doubt. Their cigarette-smoking nemesis had probably been instrumental in setting up the operations at many of them. “This is beyond what we’ve been able to document.” 

Herrod crossed his arms. “We don’t have to prove any of this in court, as your agents so ably did, Director. We can just make note of information for further reference, which is what many of these are. We’ve sent our people out to several of these locations, but all we find are parking lots or playgrounds in parks.” 

Tapping took up the thread. “We didn’t have resources at our disposal to excavate, as you did last year. So, we’ve installed security cameras to track who comes and goes, to see if anyone or anything suspicious turns up. I’ll be out in San Diego early next week to check on one of our installations that has ceased operating.” 

The AD pinned him in a focused stare. “There are other FBI Agents out there who can help you.” 

Herrod stepped back around his desk to sit again. “Yes, your ASAC Nichols and his team.” At the raised eyebrow, the older man nodded. “We’re aware of most of what your groups do, Director Skinner. I can’t tell you how many times we had had to step in after Agent Mulder’s departure when he first sequestered himself in the Hoover basement.” 

Tapping picked up the thread. “This was before Agent Scully joined him, and well before you were supervising both of them. That man could make a real hash of important investigations before she was assigned to the X-Files.” The black-haired Marshal exchanged a glance with his superior. “If you would concur, I can have copies of this document sent securely to both X-Files offices.” He leaned back. “In the spirit of interdepartmental cooperation.”

There was a single dip of a bald head. “That would be appreciated.” 

Herrod’s desk chair creaked again. “Then, I think our business is concluded, Director.” He flipped open a folder. 

Tapping began slipping the document back into his case. “This has been most productive, Sir.” 

“Agreed.” The AD rose to extend his hand, first to Herrod, then to Tapping. He held the black-haired Marshal’s grip. “One last question, if you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.” 

“That tattoo of yours is rather distinctive. Fraternity?” 

He chuckled. “A high school dare, nothing more. I’ll check in with your West Coast agents while I’m there.” 

Skinner turned toward the exit. “Thanks for your help, both of you. I’ll find my own way out.” 

Herrod looked up. “Remember to return your badge to the guard when you leave. Thanks.” 

The Assistant Director was considering calling his agents as he drove, but decided against it. This was news he should convey in person, free from electronic sensing.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5 / Donovan Residence  
Alexandria, VA / Annapolis, MD  
Thursday, 3:53 pm

There had been no budging her partner after Maria Alvarez left, so Dana Scully has straightened her legs to let him sleep where he was. She found herself drowsing as well, her head dropping back onto the sofa cushions behind her. 

“Hey.” 

The soft voice pulling her awake, she jerked, then reached down for his shoulder, but felt nothing. Opening her eyes, she saw he was sitting up, his long legs sprawled away from her, but he had twisted around to look into her face. “Mulder?” His eyes were gleaming, so she cocked her head. _That’s the last thing I expected._

He shifted to take her by both shoulders. “How did you know, Scully?” 

She reached up to grasp his wrist. “I didn’t. I just had hope that it would work, and it did. What do you want to do now, Mulder? We can get tickets for the West Coast whenever you’re ready. What? What is it?” 

He was shaking his head. “Not yet. We have a wedding for two of our agents and a commendation for you in the next few days.” He leaned into her face. “You know I’d happily never get dragged to another set of nuptials as long as I lived.” He smirked at her snort of agreement. “But, we at least have to show up.” Becoming deeply serious, he dropped his arms in his lap. “As for your commendation, Scully, that’s an iron-clad commitment on my part. Nothing will take priority over that.” He shook his head fiercely. “Nothing.” His forehead deeply wrinkled, he began chewing his lip. 

She shifted herself up onto the couch, he rising to sit beside her. “Mulder, what’s wrong?” 

He ran his hand through his hair. I’d like to have your Mom there for the commendation, but I don’t know if she’ll be safe.” He looked over at her. “I know she’d want to be there for you.” 

She was staring down at her tightly clenched fingers, blinking. “I know. I’d like her there, too. I want her to be proud of me.” 

He covered her hands with his palm. “Then, let’s give her a call.” He took out his cell phone to punch in her mobile number from memory. 

Two rings. “Fox?” Margaret frowned. _Why is he calling in the middle of the day on a Thursday? Is something wrong?_

His eyes dancing, he glanced at his partner. “Hey, Mrs. Scully. Can you come to DC on Tuesday for the morning?” 

Margaret began patting the Pomeranian, who had been napping in her lap. “Certainly, Fox.” She set the dog on the couch beside her. “Can you tell me why? Is Dana okay?” 

“Yeah, she is.” He settled against his partner’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing, Mrs. Scully. It’s a good thing for Scully. You’ll see. Meet me at my apartment at eight am on Tuesday.” He started to lift the phone off his ear, then replaced it. “Um, dress as if you were going to see a large group of lawyers, alright?” 

The older woman frowned. “Lawyers? Fox, what do you mean?” 

He was fidgeting again. “A *lot* of lawyers, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

After terminating the call, he turned to his partner. “What?” 

The auburn eyebrows were as far up her forehead as they could travel. “You know she’ll be on the phone to me in...” They both looked over as her cell buzzed on the side table. 

After lifting it away, Scully placed the black unit on her ear. “Mom?” 

“Dana, what is Fox talking about? Bunch of lawyers? Are you two okay?” 

The auburn-haired pathologist turned her back to her partner to ignore his frantic waving. “Mom, we’re fine. Mulder doesn’t need to be so mysterious about it. I’m getting a commendation from Director Freeh on Tuesday, that’s all.” 

“That’s all? Dana! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He was hovering over her shoulder now. “Sculleee!” 

“Mom, it’s okay. I shouldn’t say too much over unsecured lines. Just be at Mulder’s when he said.” She tossed her head at his snort. “Love you.”

“Okay. Love you, too. Bye.” 

Terminating the call, she faced him. “Actually, Mulder, I was a little bit hesitant to bring this up, both for her safety and because of my brothers.” She began pacing. “This will not sit well with either of them.” 

“Scully!” The roar banished all their levity. He took her by both arms to guide her back to her sofa, where they sat, his eyes storming. “They can’t take this from you. Don’t let them.” He clutched her shoulders fiercely. “Don’t let them ruin your life.” 

She patted his elbow. “Mulder, don’t worry. I’m not. I just don’t want to put Mom in the position of feeling stuck between what they want out of our family and what I want for myself.” She leaned forward. “You know she’s no good at conflict.” 

He sighed. “Yeah, I know. But, it’s something I can’t begin to understand, Scully.” He faced her. “Rosen and Nichols are coming from the West Coast for this, too.” 

She was smiling openly. “So, it will be like we’re all back together again, at least for a few days. I’ve missed being able to talk to them.” 

He nodded. “We need to fill them in on the Forty and my Dad, so they can try to track how far this group’s reach extends.” 

She shifted the cell phone to the coffee table. “We can find out how far they’ve gotten checking into Isimaru’s organization and the overseas Consortia.” She straightened to look over at him. “And get an update on Sandra.” 

He nodded. “I feel like we’ve finally gotten off the plane for real, Scully.” 

A brilliant smile warmed them both. “Yes, we have, Mulder.”

\--o-0-o--

Townhouse  
Reston, VA  
Thursday, 8:59 pm

“Oh!” ‘Ace’ threw her head back, then slid to the mattress to stretch out beside her supine, gasping lover before pulling the covers over them both. “At least that part of our life keeps getting better, Drew.”

After a quick trip to the bathroom, where he disposed of his prophylactic, he returned to snuggle her close. Why she insisted on multiple contraceptive methods, the Pill and barriers, he would never understand, but, if it kept her happy, he’d go along with it. He wrapped both arms tightly around her bare shoulders. “Yeah. It’s the one thing I can do right.”

She sighed. “I don’t understand why you aren’t long gone, Drew, I can’t cook or clean, or do anything girly.” 

He bussed her nose. “Who cares?” His lips touched her left eyelid. “You’re brilliant, gorgeous, and all mine.” He set a last, lingering kiss on her mouth. “What else should I want?” 

The sharp rapping had them separating, scrambling for their clothes, dropped in a line from the kitchen to the bedroom. Once they were both dressed, ‘Charlie’ checked through the peephole. “It’s him.” 

She ran her hands through her short brown curls. “What does he want this late?” 

The portly man unlocked the door. “Hello.” 

A grimace preceded the old spy’s query. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Amanda cocked her head. “What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the Chinese?” 

An age-spotted hand slipped into his pocket, then stopped. “No, not at all, although, we do have a West Coast quandary.” 

After a long exhale, ‘Charlie’ waved the Smoker toward their couch, waiting for the older spy to sit before he took the right cushion, ‘Ace’ perched on the arm beside him. The portly man frowned for a moment. “You mean the X-Files West crew?”

The grey head nodded, pleased his young acolyte’s astuteness was not totally lost. “Indeed, although it is not them alone we need to concern ourselves with.” 

Amanda Edwards slipped over her lover to settle on the cushions between the two men. “So, Samantha Mulder, then?” 

The Smoker sighed. _A mind like that should be running nations, not trapped in a dead-end relationship._ “Yes. She has, as we have predicted, joined forces with San Diego’s finest and the West Coast X-Files agents.” 

Amanda reached back across ‘Charlie’ for her phone. “Then, it’s time we had her terminated. We can’t risk the exposure of the Organizations in the East just yet. We need to...”

A veined hand had locked on her arm. “Nothing so obvious, Amanda. You know we need to redirect, not eliminate, our adversaries.” 

‘Charlie’ leaned forward. “But, think what her death would do to Mulder, Scully, and their little band of followers! It would send him into a tailspin he’d never work his way out of. She could never pull him together and they would be permanently out of our way!” 

A hard stare was thrown back. “I said, No!” 

The shout startled them both. 

Amanda’s gaze met the cold eyes. “No, we make certain she never trusts him. We seed evidence that we make certain she finds, suggesting he is not what he really is.” 

A tap of a long finger on her forehead. “Exactly. A slow death of his soul, rather than a quick one. Nothing illegal, or that can be tied back to us, or to our organization.” 

‘Charlie’ looked from one to the other. “So, what do we do, and when do we begin?” 

The Smoker leaned back. “This is what I have planned...”

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, 9:17 pm

After the revelations of the morning, the partners had settled quietly into their routines, taking comfort in what was, for them, normality. Mulder wanted to go for a run, so Scully joined him on the blades, half-expecting they would take an extended break on the trail to talk. In Santorini, they had gotten plenty of exercise, walking, running, climbing outside, but, the non-stop schedule they had been on once back in DC left them no time. The six miles they had put under their feet felt good, even if it left the pathologist with a new set of blisters to chafe to callouses over the next few weeks. Now, the dark-haired agent was checking the latest from the Web on the computer in her bedroom; she, immersed in the Cavalli-Sforza, was tucked up in a ball on the thick tan cushions of the armchair. 

“Hey.” A brush of fingers against her shoulder had her looking up. “Where’s the laptop?” He was holding a flopping sheaf of pages as he waited. 

She unfolded from the cushions to dig in her backpack, then held it out for him. “What do you think you have?”

Taking the Dell from her to rest it, still closed, on the table, he settled on the couch to begin spreading out the papers. “I’ve been doing some digging in the Post archives. I found the best dish in the social announcements.” He tapped a black and white photograph. “Recognize him?” 

She grasped his wrist to move it out of her view. “Yes, that’s the white-haired man who talked to me at your Father’s fake funeral, Mulder.” She picked up the page to scan the article. “Why is he at the White House? Your Dad never said he was *that* connected.” 

He flicked at the top right corner. “Look at the date, Scully.” 

She tipped up her head. “August 8, 1974. The day before Nixon resigned. Hum.” She read through the rest of the pages. Finished, she looked over at him. “Okay, I think I see what you had uncovered.” That the article was dated just a few weeks after the traumatic events he had recalled, she left unspoken. Earlier in their partnership, she would have pointed it out, unintentionally precipitating a storm on his part. But, now, she knew this was just his roundabout way of dealing with his uncovered memories. Besides, in this state, she reminded herself sadly, he sometimes had his best insights. 

He was twitching, but waited. His partner would need to step through the logic herself. 

She tapped the tiny image. “It appears your Father was there, too, Mulder. This was after he had resigned from the State Department, so it’s a surprise.” She focused on his eager face. “He was still working, for someone, even though he told everyone he wasn’t? Did he mention anything to you at all?” 

He shook his head. “He may have, but my memory of the next couple of months is hazy. I know I was in a cast for several weeks with a broken arm. I’m not sure how I got it. I think I was at Mom’s for the rest of that summer.” 

_I know the rest, Mulder._ With a nod, she shifted on the cushions. “We know this white-haired man, Robert Taverner, had connections inside the Yard in his non-Consortium activities. It looks like he was trying to get information out of the White House staff at a time of maximum disarray, during this hastily-arranged transition. This last article is the day before the pardon.” She gazed up at him. “I take it there was nothing more?” 

He crossed his arms. “Whatever they were after, they either had what they wanted, or had to abandon the search.” 

“So, the question is, who was he reporting to, the other men in New York, or in London?” She flipped open the laptop to power it up. “There are no diary entries by your Dad until November 1974, as if he didn’t want to recall what had happened.” 

The tall agent began pacing. “Or, have the pages just been removed? Check the scans. Are there ragged bits down by the bindings?” 

She zoomed into the images. “Yes, there are.” She cross-referenced the document numbers. “We translated the code on this page.” She brought up another file. “Yes, I see. There’s a gap in the sentence, from ‘purchased a’ to ‘five helicopters.’” 

He collapsed with a grunt beside her. “So, there’s more we’ll never know.” 

She patted his arm. “We can’t assume that, Mulder. Let’s throw together a quick dinner. Maybe it’ll help us think.” 

His head still on the back of the couch, he looked over at her. “Okay.”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West Offices  
San Diego, CA  
Thursday, 7:11 pm

“Robert?” Nichols looked up as a slight figure stepped into his doorway. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?” 

The little man trotted over, then settled in, leaning to the left of the leaping Mustang statue to make eye contact. “Phil, you’re gonna make me go soft.” 

The balding Montanan chuckled. “Okay, Rob, what are you thinking we should do?” It never failed to amaze him that the Agent who was so effective undercover, could, when not playing a role, be blunt to the point of absurdity. 

Schiffeln rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You’ve got me reading about these secret organizations like I’m a rookie. Let me do something with them, alright?” 

Nichols leaned back in his chair. “Rob, these people aren’t like the drug gangs you and I have worked. That’s why I wanted you to read over the X-Files on them.” 

One slight arm swatted at the air. “It’s just more of the same. Sure, they wear suits and have fancy habits, but they’re still dealin’, traffickin’ in stolen and illegal goods.” He grunted. “They’re not even as sophisticated as the Williston group.” 

“So, I’ll ask you again, what do you want to do, Rob?” 

“Let me go undercover as one of them. You said they’re advertising for new members. Let me apply. I clean up real good, and I can wear a suit. You know that.” 

Nichols shook his head. “I don’t think you’re ready, Rob. You need to work a case with us on the outside before we let you go in.” 

Shiffeln began pacing. “Okay, Phil, if you won’t agree, let me talk to your boss, see what he thinks. Mulder? Is that his name?” 

The older man sighed. “Okay, let me make this deal with you. I’ll be meeting with Mulder and Scully next week.” 

“Scully? Who’s Scully?” He was standing in front of the Mustang now. “The red-headed doctor? She in charge? Or is he?” 

Nichols eyed him. “They’re co-leaders. She was just promoted. Cross her, and you’ve made a life-long enemy of him. Same the other way. Either one could veto the idea and you’d have to live with that, Rob.” 

He held up both hands. “Okay, I get the picture. Who’s their boss? Maybe he’ll hear sense.” 

“Walter Skinner.” 

“Walt? From the Academy?” 

Nichols nodded. “He’s gotten a lot tougher than you remember from his younger days. Also, those flowing locks of his are long gone.” 

Shiffeln unconsciously rubbed his own heightening hairline. “Man, who would have thought. He was always at it with the comb. Man.” He settled back down. “Okay. You talk to them next week. I could get on the horn and explain what I want to do, if you think that would help.” 

Nichols shook his head. “Walt’s a real straight-shooter now. Scully has more plain smarts and common sense than you could begin to understand, Rob. Let me handle this. I’ll have plenty of time to bring this up between the weekend and the commendation.” He checked his Timex. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long, long day.” 

After he rose, the slight man shrugged. “Okay, let me walk you out. You got new wheels?” 

“Indeed I did. Silver Camry, just last month.” 

“The Dart finally fall apart?” 

The ASAC paused in his lock-up. “No, it just needed a new transmission, which was going to cost more than it was worth to fix. Besides, with my salary increase, I can afford the payments, for once in my life.” 

The pair were out the door, the sky beginning to color in the west. 

Shiffeln glanced at Nichols as they approached the Toyota. “Well, look at that. Like you had a regular job, or something.” 

The balding Montanan grinned back. “Or something.”

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, 10:44 pm

“Scully, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I need to head back to Arlington tonight.” He rubbed the last plate, then set it in the cabinet to the left of the sink. 

She dried her hands on a red and white checked towel. “You’re more than welcome to stay, Mulder, but you needn’t apologize. You have a lot on your mind right now.” This was what he needed to finish processing the facts they had uncovered, she knew. “Call me, if you want to talk.” She patted his elbow as they moved to the entrance. “Anytime.” 

He tucked her into a one-armed hug of gratitude for a few moments. “You, too, okay?” Then, he was out the door. 

Scully threw the deadbolt behind him before settling back into the armchair. A few more pages of Cavalli-Sforza, then she would retire herself.

\--o-0-o--

Fenleyding, Northumbria  
Friday, June 12, 1998  
8:49 am

The Suebi closed the last of Krycek’s folders. _Although I knew of them, I had no idea of the depravity to which these people had sunk._ The Forty, led by the Riata, had put all their efforts into repairing the nations after the horror of two world-wide conflagrations in a span of just over three decades. Meanwhile, that erstwhile beacon of freedom, the United States of America, had led the world in the development of the unspeakable nightmare of nuclear weapons, then had set itself at knife’s point against the Soviet Union. Worse, these American-led Organizations had done everything in their power to continue the terrors they had all believed defeated: experimentation on humans for inhuman ends, weapons that could poison the atmosphere for several centuries, all in the name of preventing that most unlikely of occurrences, the invasion of the planet by a hostile force from beyond the Solar System. This new information would have to be set out before the Fellowship, so they could plan an effective response. 

He lifted the pages he had set aside as he read. There was a warble in his mind as he scanned the names, growing loudest as his eyes passed over “Scully, Dana,” then the text described her treatment at these people’s hands. Although he had long discounted the old methods the Forty used to identify candidates, this effect he could not ignore. The thin lips twitched. His Aboriginal Brother would consider that he had finally come to his senses, that he was unlearning the dependence on technology that had guided his entire life. But, such was not the case. The encoding software they all used to secure their communications had a back-door built into it, one that would let him know when messages were sent, that would display the contents in open text. He had seen the missive from the Cymru to the Pict, snatched it, decoded it, gasping as he read his younger Brother’s tentative conclusion. 

By standards old and new, Dana Scully was the Dal Riata, their absent Sister. The American Organization, by sparing her, had provided the glory of their own overthrow. But, she was not yet of sufficient stature to qualify for membership. In time, she would achieve the prominence that was hers by merit, when she would be promoted to head all or a significant portion of the Justice organization to which she belonged. Then, she could be approached as a leader of significance. But, to bring her in now would take a degree of persuasion beyond what was in his skills. He would need to join forces with the Aborigine, the Cymru, and the Pict, if they were to have any hope of gaining her admittance. 

“Well?” Alex Krycek’s words cut into his reverie. “Are they as powerful as I said? Do you understand?” He crossed his arms as he waited in front of the desk. 

The Suebi looked over at him. “Yes, and more dangerous than I think you know.” He rested both long, thin hands on the pages. “I thank you for bringing these to my attention. You have served the Fellowship well. You may be hot-headed, but I was right to make you a Tribuno Plebis.” He waved the dark-haired man into a chair. “I need your help to bring Dana Scully into the Forty.” 

Krycek had barely settled before he was on his feet with a snarl. “What? Are you crazy? What good could that woman ever do you?” 

The Suebi pushed himself upright on the plush arms of his chair. “More than you can ever fathom. It is not only her skills, but her lineage that sets her apart.” 

The younger man began spinning, waving his arms. “What? Mine wasn’t good enough, but hers is? What on earth are you thinking? She’s nobody. Nobody!” He snatched the papers off the table. “What here did you miss? She was pulled out of Quantico to spy for us, even though she didn’t know it. When it served our purposes, we took her away and gave her back. If she was really your precious Riata, none of that would have happened.”

A cold stare was sent down a thin nose. “Every human being is important, Tribuno. You must know that is central to our Code. You read all our history. She is the Riata. She must join us.” 

Krycek stalked over to him. “Or what? What? Tell me!” 

The Suebi simply shook his white head.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, 1:51 am

Sleep was not coming easily to Dana Scully. She was accustomed to the night noises of the city, but those were outside. The interior of her apartment was too quiet, now. After slipping out from under the covers, she padded to the living room to boot up the laptop. She could work her way through a subsequent document or two in the sequence in an hour or so, before turning in again. The next day at work in the empty offices was bound to be an uncomplicated one, so three or four hours of rest would be fine. She dug a pen and a binder out of her backpack, shifted the laptop where she could read it without glare from the table lamp, then began decoding.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, 3:04 am

A key was scraping in the deadbolt. Scully, who had been drowsing with the notebook on her lap, jerked herself awake to stagger to her bedroom and her SIG. When she emerged, her tall partner, wearing his lost little boy face, was standing in the middle of her living room, still in his jeans and a rumpled undershirt, his running shoes untied over bare feet. 

“Scully, are you okay?” His nightmare-dark eyes traveled over her face and arms. 

The auburn-haired pathologist shifted up the Bern shirt to reveal an inch or two of her abdomen. “I’m healing, Mulder, see? The bruising isn’t as bad as from the fall at Akrotiri.” 

He bit his lip. “Okay. Scully?” The events since their return had metamorphosed in his sleep into phantasms that still ruled him, so he extended his right arm toward her diffidently. 

“Mulder.” _You didn’t grab the phone. It must have been bad._ She set the SIG on the side-table before crossing the room, seeking to reassure him in the only manner she knew would break through to him at the hour of the wolf: she let him wrap her in a desperate clutch. “You should have called.” She circled his waist with her arms to take away any sting her words might unintentionally cause. “I wouldn’t have thought you were an intruder.” 

His rough chin resting on her auburn crown, he sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I have my Mom, and Sammndra, but I couldn’t stand to think I would lose you.” 

She pushed her cheek against his chest at his shudder, hoping a little humor might lead him back to the light. “Mulder, you’re not going to lose me. We’re co-section heads now. If something were to happen to me, just imagine the miles of paperwork you’d have to handle all on your own because of it.” 

He sniffled. “It was just a dream, I know. But, you were in a hospital, all hooked up to tubes. Fitzberwen was standing over you laughing and shouting that you were going to die and the world was finally going to be rid of you. I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t help.” The words tumbled out in a rush, followed by a tightening of his muscled arms. 

_All that fear, partner. All that horror won’t let go of you so easily._ She tipped her head up, speaking into his chin. “I know I can’t tell you not to worry. It’s what you do. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” When she felt him exhale, then fold over her, she rubbed circles on his back with one hand. “But, I’ll be fine. Having the day to work out the coding was exactly what I needed.” Feeling the rumble of a chuckle in his throat, she knew he was settled, finally, so he would be willing to release her. She patted his sides as she stepped back. “Some tea?” She covered the wet tracks on his cheeks with her thumbs. “Then, we talk? It’ll help.” 

“Yeah.” He followed her into the kitchen, watching her move around the space, putting water on to boil, spooning loose green tea into tea balls, twisting them closed to set them to steep. When she stopped to lean against the counter, he began whispering, his words confessional. “I thought, knowing that Samnndra was okay, that I could work through how I felt about what my Dad did on my own.” He fell silent when she crossed the room to him to grasp his elbow. 

“But, even knowing the end of the story doesn’t help.” She looked up at him. “You’ve been through so much, always with so few people around you.” 

He gazed at her sorrowfully. “Scully, you’ve just gotten back on your feet. I don’t mean to put you out like this.” 

She moved close to his side. “That’s okay. We don’t ask for the misfortunes that hit us, Mulder. They just do, and we have to keep going, in spite of them. Let’s go out to the sofa for a bit, then you settle down in your room. I was decoding more of your Dad’s diaries because, truth be told, I’ve gotten used to being in a place where there’s always someone padding around.” She held out a steaming handle-free mug of peppermint tea for him, her own also prepared. _No, jibe, partner?_ She knew, then, that there was still something that he needed to work out. As tired as she was, she needed to be there for him. 

The partners took opposite ends of the sofa, he taking a few sips, then delicately sliding the thick ceramic onto her white coffee-table. “How do I make this work, Scully?” He sent her a questioning glance. “How do I connect with Sandra? She’s going to be remembering all of this, but as a child. What can I do for her? I was twelve, and it’s too much for me, most of the time.” 

_Oh. Mulder._ She leaned forward to grasp, then release, the side of his hand. “The same things you did to help me when I was returned, and when I started remembering what was done to me. Be there. Listen. She has friends, too, just like you do. Let us all help. Now, Nichols said, when you spoke with him before we left Santorini, that this detective, Jerry Donato, and she were close. Maybe he meant close the way you and I are.” 

Dark eyebrows canted. “Or, he meant the sense usually applied to men and women.” 

She tucked her head. “Maybe Nichols did. But, either way, if Donato’s worthy of her, he’ll stand by Sandra just as you have stood by me. If he doesn’t, then, Big Brother, I know you’ll know what to do with him.” 

He sent her a lop-sided grin of gratitude. “Okay. That I can handle.” He eyed her papers. “Anything new?” 

She lifted the spiral-bound notebook off the coffee table. “Your Dad was putting some observations on the Forty in these encrypted sections as well.” She held the pages out where he could read her scribbles. “There’s more information on what exactly is involved in the initiation of an unwilling candidate.” She waited, watching his eyes while he read them over. “This sounds like indoctrination.” 

He nodded. “Isolation and indoctrination. It’s odd, in the open text, he was praising their logic and enlightened approach to education and culture. But, then, there’s this.” He waved the lined pages. “I had almost convinced myself they might be useful allies against the Shadows, but, now, I don’t know. In some ways, they’re worse.” He stifled a yawn. 

Sliding next to him, she took the binder from his hands. “Tomorrow is another day, G-man.” 

He looked over at her sleepily. “Yeah, yeah, my room. Okay, Doctor.” 

Collecting the papers, laptop, and her SIG, she lead the way down the short hall. “I’ll see you later in the morning, Mulder.” 

His fingers on the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder, relief shining out of the hazel at her. “Thanks, Scully.” 

She reached over to grasp his hand. “You’re welcome. And thank you.” 

Two quiet clicks, then the apartment went dark.

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter IV - The Schizoid Man


	5. Dance of the Dead

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter V – Dance of the Dead 

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Town Crier: A Proclamation! All citizens take notice that Carnivale is   
decreed for tonight. Turn back the clocks. There will be   
music, dancing, happiness, all at the Carnivale, by order! 

The assembled Villagers begin cheering, marching, and playing music, but no one   
appears happy. The Prisoner looks on. When the Villagers leave the square, only   
the black cat and the Butler remain. The Prisoner sighs and returns to his residence,   
where Number Eighty-Four is dusting. 

Number Eighty-Four: You didn’t sleep here last night.   
The Prisoner: I thought I’d save you the trouble of making up the bed.  
Where’s the fancy costume?   
Number Eighty-Four: They’ve given me a new dress. Something special.   
The Prisoner: And the cat?  
Number Eighty-Four: Gone. I didn’t make it.  
The Prisoner: Everyone’s having a good time, outside.   
Number Eighty-Four: You wait until tonight.  
The Prisoner: You mean we’re allowed out after hours?   
Number Eighty-Four: Anyone would think you are locked in, the way you talk. Oh,   
your costume came.   
The Prisoner: Eh. Don’t I get a choice?  
Number Eighty-Four: Other people choose. It’s a game. 

The Prisoner opens the box on the chair. 

The Prisoner: I expected something exotic.  
Number Eighty-Four: What is it? It’s -   
The Prisoner: (holds up suit) My own suit, specially delivered for the occasion.  
Number Eighty-Four: What does that mean?  
The Prisoner: That I am still myself.  
Number Eighty-Four: Lucky you. 

Dance of the Dead

\-----o-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Apartment 5   
Alexandria, VA   
Friday, June 12, 1998   
9:08 am 

After a quick shower, Dana Scully had slipped into her charcoal suit over a sage shell, but not the heels. She had worn them during the reinstatement hearing, where they had served a useful purpose as weapons against Fitzberwen, but, no longer. They would remain in her locker in the Hoover gym until she had the free time to retrieve them. _Whenever that might be._ She had made peace, after the events on Santorini and her recovery, with her height, so chose the comfortable black flats that so amused her partner, over being slightly less short. _Turnabout is fair play, G-man._ She held a steaming midnight blue mug at the ready as she knocked at her guestroom door. “Mulder?” She turned the handle. “We really have to -” 

The sheets were bunched at the foot of the bed, one pillow on the floor, the other standing vertically against the headboard, but the mattress was unoccupied. _Oh, Mulder._

“Scully?” The call came from behind her. “You up?” 

She made her way into the living room. Her partner was drenched in sweat, waiting where he had been the previous night, but his eyes were twinkling. One cheek twitched in anticipation as she used both palms to rotate the handle until it was toward him. “How was it out there?” 

He took the coffee. “Not too humid, not yet, anyway.” Turning the mug to one side, he grinned at the white outline of Elvis gyrating on the dome of a canted flying saucer, the microphone cable looped around the outer ring like a lasso. “Where?” 

Her green-blue eyes sparkled back. “Frohike helped me design it out on Santorini, and it was ready when we dropped by with the containers of your Father’s. It was to have been your birthday present this year from all of us, but, after what we’ve been through since we got back from the Med, you deserved to get it a few months early.” Her fingers brushed his elbow, then she waggled them theatrically. “Shower here, or are you heading back to your place, so I should go in to X-Files East?” 

After draining the contents, he waved the ceramic in the direction of the bathroom. “Here.” He leaned into her face as he set the flat bottom on her outstretched palms. “I don’t think the Toyota’s driver’s seat is ready for all this concentrated essence of manliness.” 

She wrinkled her nose as he stepped past her. “Not exactly what I’d call it, but okay. I’m headed in. I don’t want Cynthia to think we’ve forgotten about her.” 

A snort from the hall. “Just coffee, Doctor? I fixed you breakfast Wednesday.” 

Her hand on the doorknob, she turned. “The croissants are in the kitchen, Jean-Luc.” She chuckled to herself at the hoary tease, but the muttered protest she heard from the hall told her it still packed a tweak or two.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Friday, 10:19 am

Cynthia stopped typing at the sound of Scully’s quick, precise steps tapping down the corridor. She had assembled their travel reports into separate folders, thick with receipts from the past months away. “Agent Scully, is that you?” She straightened the documents one last time. 

The low alto rang out from down from the hallway. “Cynthia? Sorry I’m so late. There was an accident on the Fourteenth Street bridge just in front of me. I stopped to help until the ambulances could make it through and take over.” 

The pathologist’s appearance in the entry had the younger woman looking up. “I checked WTOP’s traffic alerts, Agent Scully, so I guessed that was where you were. How are you?” Her hazel eyes narrowed at the bruises on the auburn-haired pathologist’s face. 

The diminutive Section Head waved the question away. “No permanent damage, fortunately.” Her green-blue gaze fell on the bulging folders. “Thanks for getting those ready to go. After so many months, that was a lot to process.” 

“No problem, Agent Scully. Director Skinner is waiting to see you.” 

A ginger eyebrow arched. “Oh?” 

“Yes, I need to discuss Tuesday’s ceremony with you.” Her bald superior was behind her. 

Scully turned. “Sir? Is there a problem?” 

He checked Mulder’s office. “Where is he? This concerns him as well.” 

The pathologist crossed her arms. Whatever was on their superior’s mind obviously had nothing to do with the commendation. “He should be in, soon.” 

Skinner answered with a nod. “Let me know when he is.” 

“When he is what?” The tall agent was standing in the hall behind them. “Sixty-six was clear.” He shrugged at his partner. 

The Director gestured with his head toward his office. “We need to speak, Agents.” Once the three were ensconced on Skinner’s side of the wall, he spun on his heel. “You had shown me a rising sun symbol on Saturday, asked me to let you know if I saw it.” 

“Where, Sir?” Dark eyebrows drew together. 

“On the wrist of a U. S. Marshal I met with yesterday, at the Senator’s suggestion. He keeps a document the Marshals have assembled on the activities of the Organization. He’s sending copies here and to X-Files West for our comparison.” 

A exchange of glances between the partners, then Scully gazed up. “That’s a complete surprise, but, for once, it’s positive. Excellent news, Sir!” Her face stretched into her full-wattage smile. Skinner found himself unexpectedly reciprocating as she was shrugging off her backpack to reach into a side pocket. She extended one of her Polaroids from West Tisbury toward their superior. “Was it here, Sir?” 

He offered a near-silent grunt. “Exactly there, Agent Scully. Do you know what this means?” 

“It’s a symbol for a covert organization we’re calling The Forty, Sir.” She slipped the stiff plastic away quickly. “We know Agent Mulder’s father was connected with them somehow. We have found these rising suns with twenty rays and full suns with forty in several locations.” She refused to be specific, even though she expected Bill Mulder’s former final resting place was no longer a secret. _That’s one more open question for us to pursue._

Mulder put his fists on his hips. “Were the rays straight or curved like waves?” 

“Waves. Is that significant?” 

The auburn curls dipped slightly. “There are factions in the group, indicated by the geometry of the rays. We’re still attempting to work through what it all means.” 

The dark-haired agent stepped closer to the Assistant Director. “Who is this U. S. Marshal? Can we speak with him?” 

“Don Tapping. He said it was a dare in high school, but I knew it wasn’t. He’s on his way to San Diego to repair monitoring equipment they have set up there. I told him to check in at X-Files West.” 

Scully shouldered her bag again. “Have you alerted ASAC Nichols?” 

“Yes. He passed the information on to his people before he left to come east. If Tapping does check in, they’ll let us all know.” 

Mulder turned to his partner. “This means the group is still active, in one way or another. Dad did us a real favor giving us all that insider information on them.”

She tapped the strap on her pack. “We should try to summarize what we’ve learned in some comprehensive documentation so Nichols and Rosen can take it back with them, rather than giving them a simple verbal brief on Monday. We can’t have all this information collecting just here on the east coast.” 

“Looks like another long day, Scully.” 

“Good thing you had that healthy breakfast, Mulder.” 

Baffled, Assistant Director Skinner glanced from one to the other, then the three headed back toward their respective desks.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 8:59 am

Pushing open the right glass door at the entrance, Jerry Donato’s black mustache began twitching as he spotted Sandra’s chestnut curls. She was pacing outside Sergeant Johnson’s office. The detectives nearest her were typing busily, their heads down, but checking surreptitiously over at the tall woman occasionally. For this, Sandra was wearing a grey pantsuit over a cream blouse, which surprised him. Normally, she dressed casually to the point of passing for one of her students. 

Richard Gonzales was behind him. “I’ll leave the good doctor to you, old man. She’s even gotten Terrence to avoid her.” The pair snorted at the thought that anyone could intimidate their most experienced undercover detective. 

Her arms akimbo, Sandra glared at the door, then she straightened her limbs before striding purposefully toward the partners. 

Gonzales raised both black eyebrows as he stepped away to his desk. 

Jerry found it hard to not grin at the woman approaching him. “Sandra?” 

Having reached his side, she began fidgeting. “Sergeant Johnson wasn’t aware we were meeting with Doctor Higgs today.” 

“Not a problem, Sandie.” He touched her elbow. “He’s good about giving us latitude to do our jobs.” As the pair walked to one of the witness interrogation rooms, Jerry smirked again. Johnson was perfectly aware of the psychiatrist’s visit, as well as the reason, but was firmly of the opinion that the man was an unnecessary burden on the Department’s budget. 

Jerry pushed open the heavy door, then stepped back to let Sandra through first. 

Higgs, blond and bronzed, rose as she entered. “Professor Miller? Terrence Higgs.” The three shook hands before settling on either side of the long table, Jerry and Sandra facing the psychiatrist. “So, how can I be of assistance?” He unbuttoned his tan suit jacket before leaning against the metal slats of the seat back until they creaked. 

Sandra glanced at Jerry, then she drew in a deep breath. “I’m an adoptee, and I’ve recently uncovered some of names of members of my birth family. I’d like your advice on how to proceed when I try to make personal contact with them.” The rest she might or might not tell him, depending on how the next few sentences of the conversation proceeded.

The psychiatrist smiled. “This is certainly a more pleasant prospect than the type of case I’m usually called in to handle, Doctor Miller. But, I’ll do what I can. What do you think you should do?” 

One dark eyebrow lifted. _If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here._ She blew out a long breath. “Thanks to Detective Donato and a few of his colleagues, I know some of their past lives. I suspect they know some of mine as well.” 

Higgs nodded. “So, this won’t be a cold introduction. Tell me, was this adoption closed?” 

Sandra twisted on her seat. “One might say that.” 

Now, the blond man leaned forward. “That’s the oddest answer I’ve ever gotten to this question. It was either closed or not.” 

The chestnut-haired professor steepled her fingers. “I was adopted twice. My first set of adoptive parents was killed, the second adopted me after that, and they both died just a few years ago. What led to my first adoption, I don’t know. I’ve learned my birth parents were married, both alive, quite well-off, and had one other child, a son. My birth Father has since deceased. I feel certain my birth Mother was unaware of any of these convoluted details about my past.” 

Higgs sat up very straight, his eyes focused. “Sandra, there’s more going on here than you’re letting me know. I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” 

She bounced to her feet to begin pacing. “There’s a great deal I don’t know myself. I have gaps in my memory. I’ve begun remembering snippets of my life with my birth family, but no details, just impressions. My first detailed recollections are of working at a Kibbutz before my first adoption.” 

The psychiatrist glanced at Jerry before focusing on the Professor. “So, these impressions, can you share them?” 

She leaned against the corner of the room, as far away from Higgs as she could press herself. “Simple things. A dog, big and black.” She crossed her arms. “My brother walking me to school. I liked him.” She shook her head. “I know that sounds odd, but I remember thinking he was just the smartest person I ever met. I did look up to him, literally. He was several inches taller than I was, but he would always walk by my side, at my pace, telling me about the Asimov or Heinlein novel he was reading.” She sank down the wall. “It was always some science fiction, but I don’t remember any of the details. Just his voice. It was starting to change, and it was funny.” She smiled as the images in her head. “He’d be chirping along, but for a word or a half a word, there’s be this other deep sound coming out of him. Then he’d be my brother again.” 

Jerry found he was biting his lower lip as hard as he could. He had some inkling of how difficult any of this was for her to say, so he felt absolutely exhausted for her. “Sandie, it’s okay, come back to the table.” The thick-chested detective rose to extend his hand to her. 

“Sit down, Detective Donato.” The blond psychiatrist was eyeing him angrily. “She will move when she feels comfortable.” He sent a short huff across the table, before turning back to Sandra. “Doctor Miller, please, tell me what you remember of your birth parents.” 

She slid back up the wall to return to her chair, shifting it a bit closer to Jerry’s before she sat. “Not much. Silence mostly, that was somehow always an argument. Something about Europe. My birth father was never around and my mother was ill a lot. I have the sense that I spent most of my day with my brother.” She leaned over the table. “That’s it, really. Not much to go on.” 

Higgs nodded. “So, how do you feel about all this?” 

Sandra snorted. “Like this is a waste of all of our time.” She found her feet. “I have to go to DC on Wednesday to speak with my NSF sponsor. I know my brother works in the FBI there. After I meet with some colleagues at Goddard, I’m just going to look him up on Thursday, shake his hand, wish him well with his life, and get back to mine. We’re different people now. We’re not those two kids walking to school anymore.” A quick clasp of Higgs’s hand, a nod to Jerry, then she was out of the room. 

“It’s not over.” The psychiatrist’s baritone was gentle. “For her, it’s just beginning.” 

Donato sighed. “I know. I’ve been trying to tell her that for quite some time.” 

The blond man rose to walk around the table. “Some advice, Detective. Don’t let your personal feelings for the Professor interfere with this. It’s her life.” 

Jerry looked up. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Monday, June 15, 1998  
8:21 am

Fox Mulder scanned the group gathered around the long table in Skinner’s office. Dana Scully was on his right; Rosen and Nichols were on his left. The Assistant Director had taken the lone chair at the far end. There was a signal difference between this meeting around his supervisor’s table and so many of the others. There were no outsiders or lurking observers, trying to drive any real investigation off-track, just the people he trusted to put their case first and foremost. 

The weekend had been a bittersweet reunion for them all. Rosen and Cary had been exultant at their opportunity to be openly affectionate at Pendrell’s and Phillip’s wedding, leaving Phil Nichols to shepherd Cynthia through the event. That, he had expected, but the appearance of Margaret Scully he had not. At least, at the reception, Margaret and Cary could indulge in squeals and giggles at the decorations, sparing his reticent partner and the brunette astronomer from assuming a frivolity he knew neither shared. 

Sunday had been similarly eventful for the West Coast team members. Rosen had taken Cary around DC to visit the monuments, with Nichols and Cynthia happy to play hosts and tour guides, while he and Scully had finished writing up the Forty. It would have been far more enjoyable to trot through the White House alongside them, but with so much to convey, their time together being so short, the co-Section Heads knew there was none to waste. 

Now, however, they were all prepared to get down to business. A nod to his partner, then she opened the binder in front of her, identical to the ones waiting before Nichols, Rosen, and Walter Skinner. “This is a bit rough, still, but we wanted the rest of you to know what we do, or what we think we do.” 

“This is what your Father had assembled, Agent Mulder?” The Director had worked through some of the chapters earlier when checking a few of the drafts against the digitized documents, copies of which resided on his computer as well, now. 

“Yeah, it is. He had created a document set over the years, using plain text, encrypted references, and hidden-ink records, partly on the Shadows, and partly on the Forty.” 

The bespectacled man rose to walk to his desk. “You need to see this, Agents.” Returning with a State Department folder, he handed it to Scully. 

When the auburn-haired pathologist caught sight of the subject, she gasped. “How did you get this information on Christina Knox? They’ve been completely unresponsive with us.” 

Skinner offered a shrug. “I had the Senator request her file from them. It was delivered a few minutes before the rest of you arrived this morning. Take a look.” 

After a quick glance at the official photograph inside, she passed the document to her partner. “She was one of them, Mulder.” 

He poked the color image. “The brooch on her shoulder. Straight rays, full sun, silver. That must have been her connection to my Father. She really wasn’t his mistress, after all.” 

“Guys, could you let the rest of us catch up, here?” The brunette astronomer rubbed her eyes. “You didn’t put your spouse on a plane at six am at National this morning.” 

The partners exchanged a glance before Scully sat up straight. “Okay, we’ll start at the beginning, back on Santorini, when we first met her.”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Monday, 11:42 am

“That’s about all we know.” Mulder crossed his arms. 

Chewing his mustache, Nichols leaned back. “Okay. That’s a load.” He turned to the Assistant Director. “You say this U. S. Marshal, Tapping, is connected with them, too?” At the bald man’s snort, he shook his head. “We have that copy of his document you sent us in our safe. We’ll check with the San Diego Marshal’s office when we return. Between the Bureau, the San Diego detectives, and these Marshals, we’ll get to the bottom of the Eastern Organizations.” His gaze canted toward his former partner, who nodded encouragement. 

“But now, it’s our turn.” Rosen passed copies of Sandra’s document to the remaining three. “This is what we have so far.” 

Scully read over the pages carefully, then cocked an eyebrow at her partner, who was chewing his lip. “Mulder? What are you thinking?” 

His eyes wide, he turned to her. “Scully, this is perfect. The chart, the description, this is exactly what we’ve needed.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist, who had been carefully folding the document open at the diagram, looked over, sparkles in the green-blue. “I know. My fragmentary memories can’t begin to compare.” She turned to Nichols. “Which of your agents put this together?” 

Rosen smirked. “It wasn’t an agent, Scully, it was Sandra.” She passed Mulder a different copy of the document, one with handwritten annotations. 

As the hazel gaze fell on the curled writing, he let out a choked gasp, then dropped the papers on the thick tabletop. 

The auburn-haired pathologist leaned over. “Mulder, talk to me.” 

He tapped the script. “This is hers. See the ‘i’? She would never give those up when she learned cursive writing, no matter how much her teachers tried.” He bent his head, taking a few moments, then he shifted to face Rosen and Nichols. “She’s been working with you?” 

The balding Montanan chuckled. “More like she’s been swooping in with directives and documents.” 

The brunette astronomer smiled. “Like you, Mulder. She’s so much like you it’s, well...” 

He released a dry laugh. “Spooky?” The dark-haired agent found his feet to begin rambling aimlessly, until his partner blocked his path. 

She reached for the sleeve of his jacket. “Mulder, we’ll head out there, tonight if you want. I don’t care about the ceremony; the commendation is already part of my personnel file. Truth be told, I’d happily avoid the dignitaries if I could.” 

Blazing gratitude shot of the hazel, but he shook his head. “Scully, after what they’ve put you through, they owe you so much more. They’ve treated you like dirt because you dedicated yourself to our joint work all these years, so don’t let them off the hook. Besides, I want this for you. Really.” His fingers on her shoulder, he guided her back to the table, then faced the others. “What else do you have?” 

Rosen slid several sheets over to them. “These are the connections between James Andrews and the law firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and Whittington.” She waved a hand deprecatingly. “They’re my notes. Not as thorough or concise as Sandra did, but there are loose ends not even she could tie up.” 

Composed, Mulder cocked his head as he slid back into his chair. “Oh?” 

Nichols leaned forward. “James Andrews has been missing for several days. I have three agents trying to run down his whereabouts, but we can’t make any headway. His apartment was trashed, but there aren’t any prints we could lift other than his own.” 

Scully nodded. “He was supposed to be contacted by Eric Connors.” She turned to her partner. “We should check back with Max, see if they closed the loop with each other.” 

Skinner set his jaw. “I can handle the contacts with the Yard, Agent Mulder.” He knew, from Scully’s reports, of the uncomfortable personal connection between the tall man and Inspector Green. “This is a lot to follow up on, and we can split the load.” 

Relieved, the dark-haired Section Head blew out a breath. “Yeah. That would probably be best.” He picked up Sandra’s document, the one without the hand-written notes. Those he would save for later. “Okay, Rosen, Nichols, read these summaries through. When you’re ready, we’ll compare this against what we have from XF-3009, XF-3010, Scully’s retrieved memories, and the reconstructed Consortium transportation document.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist leaned forward. “We’re also giving you both a set of CD’s with the full contents of William Mulder’s documents on them.” She slid two black zippered cases across the table toward Nichols and Rosen. “We need to distribute the information in as many locations as possible so there’s no single point of failure.”

Walter Skinner took a moment to appreciate the deft coordination among the men and women sitting down the long table from him. He had always been amazed by what Mulder and Scully could produce when they worked together as equals. But, now, the four were showing him a new side to their collaboration. There was something else: Richard Matheson’s forthright confidence in his long-term plan was not, the bald Director realized, misplaced. Suddenly feeling a rush of excitement himself, he set himself to reading thoroughly over the thick text Scully had produced with an investigator’s, not a manager’s, eye. _It’s been far too long._

\--o-0-o--

Mayer Hall 4132  
University of California at San Diego  
Monday, 9:01 am

Jerry Donato stepped from the elevator, carefully juggling a cardboard tray with two coffees, while grasping two paper bags. He had stopped by Sandra’s house to speak with her late the previous evening, but it had been dark inside. Two feline faces, one round and red, one pointed and almond-eyed, had stared back at him from the front window. He had suspected, then, that she was not upstairs sleeping. From all his Mother’s charges, he knew a long warm shape and soft bedding drew these little canines instinctively, so the pair would have been nestled beside her or beneath those same covers, even in warm months. 

The office door was open, so he poked his head in. “Sandie? You here?” 

She looked up from her monitor. “Jerry?” She swiveled her chair to rise. “Is everything okay?” 

He set the tray down on the corner of her desk, noting her bare feet as he did so. “At the Division? Sure. Have you had breakfast?” 

She peered into the bag. “Oh, these are those vegan wraps from that place in Mission Beach? I’d always wanted to try those.” She checked his face. “That’s a bit of a drive, Jerry. You did this for me?” 

His black mustache twitched. “Not a problem.” 

Her chestnut curls were contained in a bare rubber band she had dug out of her desk drawers around midnight. “Thanks. I suppose I’m not to check the detective’s breakfast in the other one?” 

He shrugged. “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee, so I got it black, and brought stuff.” 

She cleared a seat, then waved him into it. “I needed to spend the time putting together my report, so I just hung out here.” Her hazel eyes sparkling, she bit into the dark brown wrap. “This is good.” 

He leaned forward. “I’d stopped by your place last night, but the Inquisitor and the Vizier told me you weren’t home.” 

“Vizier.” She tossed him a lop-sided grin. “I like that. Good to know how well you speak cat, Jerry. I had Judy drop by to take care of them.” She put the wrap down on the bag to sample the coffee. “Hey, this is good, too. You really didn’t have to, but, thanks.” 

The thick-chested detective resisted the urge to take her hand. “You’re welcome, Sandie.” 

After a quick glance at the clock over the doorway, she picked up the sandwich, sprouts and beans balanced in the opening. “Are you sure you should be here? It’s late.” 

“No worries.” He took a bite of bagel. “I pulled weekend duty, so this is my day off.” 

When they finished breakfast, she balled up the bag to rest it in the tray, then dug in the top right-hand drawer. “Here.” She held out a key. “This is for you.” 

Stunned, he took it from her. “Sandie, are you sure?” 

She gulped a final sip of the coffee. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Jerry. I feel I can depend on even fewer of them.” She lifted her hazel eyes to his dark ones. “But, I trust you.” 

He felt his breath catch. “Okay.” 

She tucked her feet under her on the wide oak seat. “Besides, things will be different after I get back from DC, and I think I’ll need as many as I can get.” She reached over to curl her fingers around his palm. “Thank you.” 

He found he could do no more than nod in silence.

\--o-0-o--

Fourth Floor Computer Laboratory  
Whisperhill Research  
Beltsville, MD  
Monday, 7:41 pm

As the elevator shuddered to a halt, Luther let loose a deep sigh. Their adversaries had gone too far, learned too much. It was time to for drastic measures, but he needed to know whether he would be acting alone. His Smoking superior would react harshly to any perceived disloyalty, so he would have to proceed carefully. 

‘Ace’ checked the silhouette of the occupant of the elevator as the doors rolled open. _Good, not him. I have too much to do._ “Hey, what’s up?” 

The balding man stepped to her side. “We need to talk.” 

“Oh?” Her tone was guardedly neutral as she toggled the power lever on a small metal chassis hooked to five speakers. Four were pointed at the walls, with the last at the ceiling. A whoosh emanated from all. “It’s my own design. It’s a randomly variable broadband noise spectrum that will cover any conversation I don’t want the old man to hear.” 

Luther rolled over a castered chair, then leaned close to her. _She really is quite attractive, in an underfed way._ “They need to be stopped.” 

She offered a single nod. “I know. I’ve been working on a plan.” Turning to the computer on her left, she struck a few keys, popping on the monitor behind it. “I’ve been thinking about how we should go about doing that.” She rolled the chair over until their thighs were almost in contact. “We need to be able to control and predict their actions.” 

Still cautious of surveillance, he bent to whisper in her ear. “Mulder and Scully?” 

“Exactly. The old man won’t let me touch Sandra Miller, but she can be the bait. He’ll shield Mulder forever, too, so that leaves Scully. Take out Scully, and he’ll fall apart. Hunh.” She shook her head. 

He studied her frown. “What?” 

“I’m starting to think like him. Oh, well.” She brought up a map of San Diego. “Very soon, Mulder will go out there to see her, and Scully will go with him. We have two problems of our own we can solve along the way, that will set the timing of his visit.” 

The bald man gasped at the names on the screen. “I didn’t think she would be a problem. She’s been a reliable operative for decades now. How do you know she had turned?” 

‘Ace’ ran a small surveillance video for him. There was no sound, but he rubbed his eyes when it finished. “You see?” She rapped the frozen final image with her knuckle. “I tapped into the surveillance system the Marshals have set up, then disabled one of their cameras. They’re sending a man out to fix it. I want you to take him out. That will unsettle the Bureau and get Mulder and Scully in the air.” 

“But, how do you know?” He crossed his arms. “They’ve never worked with the Marshals before.” 

She shrugged. “Skinner met with him at Matheson’s suggestion. They think they’re being careful, but, the latest hardware I’ve installed won’t be noticed for several weeks, if then.” She opened another X-Window to run a program. “I’ve developed this Bayesian predictor to calculate outcomes, given the personalities involved.” She brought up a map of San Diego, then zoomed in to University City. “This is what I’m expecting we will need to do...”

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Tuesday, June 16, 1998  
7:49 am

Fox Mulder pulled the door aside. “Hey, Mrs. Scully.” He tucked her into a quick embrace. “Don’t worry, you’re dressed just right.” Stepping aside, he ushered her in. “Let me get my jacket and we can go. We’ll need to only take one car. Parking can be tight.” He would not subject his partner’s mother to a rush-hour Metro trip at the height of DC tourist season.

She glanced around the room. “Where’s Dana? Will she be meeting us there?” 

He was rubbing his long fingers along the black linen collar carefully. “No, Scully’s getting the full Bureau Princess treatment. They’ve sent a Limo to her place. She’ll have breakfast with Senator Matheson and Attorney General Reno before ending up at the Hoover Building. We’re just the little people today.” He tried on an uncertain grin. 

He reached for the knot of his tie, but her fingers were there sooner. A quick tuck, then she smiled as she ran her palm down the red and gold silk. “Shush. I’ve helped enough sailors with their dress whites, Fox, I know how to do this.” She stretched up to turn a cowlick in his hair back into place. “Caroline would be so happy to be here. This is as much for you as for her, Fox.” 

He blinked. “Not really, Mrs. Scully. This is all her show. We were...” He shook his head. 

She cupped his cheeks with both palms. “Now, Fox, I know where we were. Don’t be so hard on yourself, hum?” 

That uncertain twitch flashed again. “We should go. We groundlings will at least be able to snag a few oranges this early.” He held the door for her, then extinguished the lights as he stepped through.

\--o-0-o--

Courtyard  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 8:39 am

Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn held out his diplomatic credentials to the waiting agent. “I’m here on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government.” The petite woman handed him a printed temporary ID, then led him down to the risers behind the presenter’s lectern. He noted the lone C-SPAN camera set up at the far end of the trapezoidal space. Apparently, the diplomatic corps was to be as much on display as the agents in question. He leaned over to nod to Henri Bernard of the France Diplomatie, with whom he had shared many of these lower-level assignments. At least here he could study the audience for the son of the Atrebates. His reactions would tell him as much about this potential Riata as their eventual direct meeting; further, since he was one row up on the risers, his view of the yard would not be blocked by an intervening head. 

He had passed the Brutalist structure many times on trips around the District, but this was his first visit to the interior courtyard. The presenter’s platform was set up at the narrow end, where a short flight of stairs descended from the balconies on the second floor. Several rows of chairs faced him, probably for agents close to the honoree. His view of the seats on the far left was blocked by Shrady’s sculpture, “Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity,” with three representational figures, one female, and two male, in front of an over-sized flag. The balconies were also stacked deep with chairs, which were now filling up with the dark-suited denizens of the Bureau. Not only was the coming ceremony intended to impress the outside world, but that inside these concrete walls as well. As was proper. The actions of the Riata they were there to commemorate were inspiring, giving life to the ideals cast in bronze. 

The keening started in his mind as the rest of the members of the audience filed in to take seats in the courtyard chairs. He checked over those assembling until he localized the source: an agent in a black suit, like most of the others, his tie a unique blaze of red and gold, was escorting an older, brown-haired woman to a spot in the front row. The man was not, he realized, the son of an Atrebates. The senses the Aborigine had awakened in him told him he was, instead, a full Atrebates, like his father. The tall agent nodded to a balding, greying, slightly overweight man with a mustache, followed by a lithe, athletic woman with closely-cropped brunette hair. Behind them both was a slighter, tinier woman, barely out of girlhood, her long brown curls braided into a ponytail. These five were connected with the Riata, he knew. From long practice at boring State dinners, he could easily read lips, so when the dark-haired man bent over the older woman, calling her ‘Mrs. Scully,’ inquiring if she would prefer to switch seats for a better view, ap Gwinn smiled slightly. The Atrebates had impeccable manners, unusual for an American. _Utterly commendable._

But, now, motion at the top landing brought all eyes to the stairs. The towering, slightly gawky woman descending was the Attorney General, he knew, although they had met but briefly once at the White House. Behind her was Senator Matheson, then Director Freeh, followed by several officials he did not recognize. Finally, the trilling in his head rose slightly, so he knew who would begin the trip down the concrete flight next. The auburn-haired agent held herself erect, walking at a precisely measured pace, much as the woman he represented had learned to over the years. She descended, then took the five steps up to the platform with ease, her focus straight ahead. Behind her, a bald man wearing round wire spectacles followed, giving her space. Ap Gwinn checked the Atrebates, putting all his senses into use. The dark-haired man’s gaze was fixed on the Riata, his admiration glowing from his whole person. His opinion of this woman’s worth was unmistakable. 

One of the officials, round-faced and white-haired, stepped up on the speaker’s podium. He began making noises about having brought the Riata into the Bureau, but ap Gwinn quickly tuned him out. He knew a glib liar when he heard him, so ignored the rest of the man’s speech until the audience began applauding politely. The Atrebates, equally unimpressed, never took his eyes off the Riata, save for quick glances down at her mother now and then. 

The Attorney General, owly in her round glasses, stood behind the lectern next, commenting how hard it was for women in law enforcement, taking a few sentences to explain what the current administration was doing to make improvements. But, before exhausting the patience of the assembly, she shifted to describing the Riata’s credentials, thanking her several times as she did so for her service. Through it all, the diminutive agent had remained motionless, gazing out at a fixed point on the opposite balcony, turning only when her name was spoken to offer a polite nod to the tall woman. 

Finally, Director Freeh took over, waving the agent to her feet once he was in position. As she rose, the agents in the courtyard and on the balconies stood, clapping, whistling, and cheering. The sound filled the open space, the high walls and glass sending the commendations echoing around and back until they escaped into the now-humid air of the Capital. Ap Gwinn wondered if the sounds were loud enough to be heard, over the seemingly incessant traffic, by tourists walking on Pennsylvania Avenue. The diminutive agent gazed down at her hands, then her cheeks colored momentarily, as she sought out the Atrebates and her mother, both of whom were standing quietly, side by side, luxuriating in the unprompted accolade. The head of the Bureau motioned the assembly to sit, which, after a few moments, they did, the Atrebates last of all. 

After a slight cough, Freeh began. “Agents, Attorney General Reno, Senator Matheson, assembled guests of the Bureau.” He turned to the dignitaries to nod. “We are here to honor one of our own. Many times, we have these ceremonies, and the recipient is no longer with us. Today, however, is a completely joyous occasion. Not only is our honoree alive and well, but she is here among us, her Bureau family, as we celebrate her service to the nation.” Sustained, if less raucous, applause interrupted him. After waving the audience to silence, he looked over his shoulder. “Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully, come up here with me, please.” Once she joined him, he took a pin from its box to affix to her black lapel. “Now, the hard part.” He picked up the citation, read it out, then presented it to her with a handshake. “Okay, enough from me. Dana, the floor is yours.” He stepped off the podium to resume his seat. 

The diminutive agent began quietly. “There are many good people who helped me get where I am today, not all of whom could be here. My mother, Margaret O’Shea Scully is down there.” She sent her Mother a slight wave, then waited through polite applause. “But my Father, who called me Starbuck and taught me to always believe in myself, is not. I miss him every day.” She studied the citation, gathering her thoughts before mentioning several agents from Quantico. Ap Gwinn caught the slight twitch that ran through the Atrebates as she spoke of a James Willis before she turned her attention to the front row. “Cynthia, you’ve been the earnest little sister I never had.” She paused to smile at the slight brunette. “Two of my good friends and colleagues, ASAC Phillip Alexander Nichols in the San Diego office and former Agent, now Professor Andrea Melissa Rosen at Scripps, made the long trip from San Diego to be here today. I want to thank you for the hours you have put in, the guidance when I needed it, and your friendship.” After two nods, she looked over her shoulder at the bald man. “Assistant Director Skinner has always challenged me to meet the high standards of the Bureau, even when we disagreed as to what those standards meant. I thank you, Sir, for your care and attention, without which I would not be here today.”

Skinner took off his glasses, inclining his head once in recognition. 

She was facing the Senator now. “Sir, you have stood behind the work as no one else has, seeing to our resources, offering essential support. Thank you.” 

The broad politician’s smile, then a nod of encouragement, were sent her way. 

She turned back to the main audience, but her eyes were locked on the face of the brown-haired agent next to her Mother. “Last, I want to offer my unbounded gratitude to the man who has been by my side through most of my career at the Bureau. I had just completed my residency down at Quantico when I was assigned to work with Special Agent Mulder, but that was, even though I didn’t know it at the time, the most important day of my life. Mulder, you have challenged me to see the other side of every question, taught me to discount nothing in the search for the truth, shared your questing thoughts with me even when they called everything I thought I knew into doubt. When I think of someone who will never quit, never give up when he is certain he is right, I see you. When I think of someone who always looks out for those who can’t look out for themselves, I see you. When I think of someone who sees the unfairness, the injustice in the world, and will stop at nothing to put things right, I see you. In short, when I think of what an Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations ought to be, I see you. I would call you an honored mentor, but that isn’t enough. I would call you my most trusted friend, but neither is that. However, if I call you my partner, that is.” Both eyebrows arched, her gaze dropped to the certificate in her hands. 

The applause began slowly, solemnly, then increased in pitch and speed. The audience members, both on the Courtyard, in the balconies, and on the platform, rose.

\--o-0-o--

All but two. On the platform, Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn was lost in the currents of time the Aborigine had shown him, knowing the diminutive woman behind the lectern was, indeed, the Riata. On the courtyard, Fox Mulder was staring down at his clenched hands, unable to move or speak. There was someone touching him, someone he trusted.

Margaret Scully leaned into his view. “Fox? I told you Caroline would be proud.” 

He could barely meet her eyes.

\--o-0-o--

On the platform, Dana Scully was exchanging handshakes with the various officials and dignitaries. To avoid her, Chief Blevins had made his excuses, then headed for the stairs as she finished speaking. She moved along the row of officials, waiting while Henri Bernard bussed her fingers. She stopped in front of ap Gwinn. “Sir? Sir? Thank you for coming today.”

Rising, the Cymru extended his arm. The voices in his head were singing now. _One in Three._ The chanting stepped up a octave. _One in Three,_ he heard again. One ginger eyebrow arched slightly, he offered his congratulations. _Three what?_ He would need to speak with his Aboriginal Brother, or perhaps the Mandarin, so that this might make some sense. 

Her green-blue gaze fell on his Pendragon, encircled by the Sun. She studied it for a moment, then raised her eyes to his. She focused on him intently, the unspoken question practically a shout. Before he could control his response, he nodded, then, so did she. She knew who he was; he knew that she knew. This was a portent unmistakable. He gasped as he felt an insistent urging to greet her as one of the Forty. But, she had moved on to the Norwegian beside him, then she was descending the steps from the platform. Offering his apologies, he shuffled along the narrow path between feet and chairs to follow at a discreet distance. 

The auburn-haired agent was flying toward her Mother, both women with their arms extended. 

“Dana, Dana, that was wonderful.” Margaret clutched her daughter. “Your Father would be so proud of you. So proud.” She stepped back, letting Cynthia, Rosen, and Nichols take her into quick hugs and handshakes. Several others from the audience stepped forward to clasp her palm. A few of the women agents kissed her on the cheek as they filed out. 

Eventually, the courtyard was empty, except for ap Gwinn, half-concealed behind the wide bronze flag, Margaret Scully, Director Skinner, Cynthia, and the four X-Files agents, Mulder still rooted in place. The Cymru stepped as far back as he could while still being able to monitor their conversations. When he looked over at Margaret, he heard _One in Three_ again, at the lower pitch. Somehow, Mother and Daughter were connected in a larger chain, whose nature he would eventually divine. _But, the higher? What did that mean? Who were the other set of three?_

Ap Gwinn watched as the C-SPAN camera swiveled to focus on the small group, then the operator, at a command through his headphones, shut the system off to begin disassembling his equipment. But, still the rest lingered, gathered around the Riata, unwilling to break the tight circle. Eventually, Nichols touched the brunette’s arm, then they stepped away, Cynthia right behind them. Walter Skinner offered Margaret Scully his elbow, so they were gone as well. Finally, the dark-haired agent stirred, looking up at his partner. Abject awe written on his features, he mouthed her name. 

_Adamant._ The thought occurred unbidden to ap Gwinn, prompting a nod to himself. To call such fierce devotion out of an Atrebates was the prime indicator. When he related these events to the Ekklesia, there would be no question. He had found the Riata. He headed silently for the stairs and the exit. He had seen everything he had come to see.

\--o-0-o--

Dana Scully reached out to touch her partner’s shoulder. “Mulder, I’m so sorry.”

Dark eyebrows drew together. “Scully, what do you mean?” He rose to gaze down on her. 

Her fingers straightened the pin on her lapel. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. I’m sorry.” Her gaze dropped to the certificate in her hand. “I guess I got a little carried away.” She looked up at her partner. “But, I wanted everyone to know, Mulder, so they would understand you, the real you that I’ve seen over the years.” 

His fingers trembling, he grasped both her shoulders to anchor himself. “Scully.” He had no other words, no other thought. 

But she was stepping away, tugging on his arm. “Mulder, that man who was on the platform, we need to speak with him.” 

Her sense of urgency propelling him, he followed her. “Scully?” 

She pulled down on his shoulder. “Take a look at his tie pin, when he turns around. Look!” She sped over to the Cymru, now three steps up the concrete stairs. “Sir! Ambassador ap Gwinn? Please, a moment, Sir. I need to speak with you regarding an on-going investigation.” 

Ap Gwinn considered picking up his pace, but he could not refuse the Riata. He turned to move back down to the courtyard. “Agent Scully, as much as it pleases me to hear you say Ambassador, I’m merely a humble servant of Her Majesty. It was a great honor to be here today.” He extended his hand to the tall man, feeling the thrum as they connected. “The Bureau truly pulls in the best people, Agent Mulder.” The Cymru noted the hazel focus on his Pendragon. Here, too, was one who understood secrets, but would keep them. He reached for the Riata’s fingers again, her touch electric, setting all his senses, both corporeal and temporal, alight. 

He knew he would not return to Llangollen this tonight, but would head directly to London to speak with the Pict in his chambers. Digging a card out of his wallet, he took a step back, then held it out for her. “Forgive me, duty calls. I will be crossing the Pond this evening, but, please, contact my office. It would be my honor to offer you any assistance you should need upon my return.” With that, he trotted up the stairs. Once at the top, he checked back over his shoulder. The Atrebates had rested his hand on the Riata’s spine, bending over her as they conversed softly. To bring them both into the orbit of the Ekklesia would be momentous. He had to find a way for it to come to be.

\--o-0-o--

As ap Gwinn passed them, Rosen turned to her former partner. “How long should we wait, Nic?”

He shrugged. “He’ll have to move eventually. Hang on, Ros.” 

Cynthia’s hazel eyes were wide. “He was staring at her, the whole time. I thought he was going to cry.” 

Margaret turned to the Assistant Director. “I could go down and prod them.” 

Skinner offered a single nod, then all five turned when two heads popped up above the landing. Mulder was shoulder to shoulder with his partner, his eyes still shining as he glanced down at her auburn curls. 

Skinner stepped up to them. “Alright?” 

Hazel met green-blue again. “We are, Sir.” It was the diminutive agent who responded. 

“Alright.” He moved back. “There is a celebration in your honor on the fifth floor, Agent Scully. You should check in, since it’s only slated to last a half an hour.” 

She looked around the tight group. “Only if all of you accompany me. I’ve had enough of trying to make conversation with people I’ve never met.” She caught her partner’s eye. “I *do* mean all of us.” A nod, then the seven proceeded to the elevator.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, June 17, 1998  
7:42 am

“Agent Scully?” Cynthia stepped past the banks of files to pass around behind the desk. 

The pathologist looked up from her computer monitor. “Yes?” 

The brunette thrust a piece of paper at her. “I made A’s in both my classes, see?” 

The agent was on her feet, reaching out to hug the younger woman. “Cynthia, I’m so proud.” Leaving her arm around the slight shoulders, she walked them both back to the front area. “You did that all on your own, didn’t you?” She sent her a broad smile at the nod. “You see? You can become anything you want to be. Never underestimate yourself. Agent Mulder and I don’t.” 

The dark-haired man nodded from the entrance to his office. “She’s right, as usual. We’re lucky to have you.” He grinned. “You should goof off a -” 

The three frowned at the desk phone as it jangled. The brunette picked up the handset, then waited for the unseen speaker to finish. “Okay, I’ll pass that along.” Her expression somber, she turned to the auburn-haired woman. “You have a visitor, Agent Scully. I think it’s one of your brothers. Charles?” 

The partners exchanged a glance. “How do you want to play this?” Mulder had bent over her. 

A resigned sigh escaped the pathologist. “Hang around, but out of sight. I don’t know what to expect here.” The agents remembered the painful visit Charles had paid to Scully’s apartment before the Pittsburgh trial. She turned to the younger woman. “Cyndie? Why don’t you run out to pick up some doughnuts for our guest? He loves Bavarian cream.” 

The brunette checked both their faces. She’d have to search for the nearest doughnut shop, but, she suspected that was the point. She knew her diminutive boss’s brothers had a very low opinion of her choice of careers, although she couldn’t, especially after yesterday, understand why. “Okay, Agent Scully. Let me look in the phone book in Director Skinner’s office.” 

One auburn eyebrow arched. Her message had obviously been received, so Scully headed around the wall at the same moment Mulder disappeared around his. She resumed her seat behind her desk. 

“Dana?” Charles Scully paused on the elevator threshold. “Where are you?” 

A few quick steps, then she was in the doorway. “We’re in here, Charlie. Cynthia went out to pick up some refreshments for you.” She ushered her brother inside, then checked over her shoulder to see the brunette just about to move into the hall. “Come in and have a seat. You should have called.” 

The red-haired officer was in khakis, his everyday summer uniform. He checked over the files and tall shelves as they passed into his sister’s office. She waved him to a seat, but he shook his head. “Dana, so should you have. Why didn’t you tell us?” 

She leaned back in her chair. “Tell you what, Charlie? We’ve been home from the Med for almost two weeks now.” 

He began pacing in front of her desk. “Yeah, you could have told Bill and me about that, too.” He paused as he glanced into the adjoining space, where Mulder, apparently transfixed by the topography of Spokane, Washington and its environs, was standing in front of a map with his back to the inter-office access. “Can we close this?” He pointed at the door. 

Scully leveled her gaze at his frown. “I’d prefer we didn’t. We’d need to move Ahab’s chair.” She rose to walk around the desk to him. “Please, Charlie, have a seat.” 

Remaining upright, he crossed his arms. “Okay. You won’t make this easy, Dana, but here goes. Why didn’t you tell us about the commendation ceremony? Liz caught it by accident flipping channels past C-SPAN. You told Mom. We saw she was there.” 

“Charlie, you had asked me to stay away from you and your family. So did Bill. I didn’t think it would have any significance for you.” She stared down at her hands, clutching the pages of XF-3010. 

“Dana!” He bent into her face. “We’re not the bad guys here!” He flicked his green-blue eyes toward Mulder, who had moved over to the light-table to arrange slides, then drop them into a carrel. “We’re family. We stand together through good times and bad.” He grasped her elbow. “This was a great thing for you. Mom said there were dignitaries from several major embassies – What?” 

She had taken a step away from him. “Charlie, you didn’t accost Mom about this, did you?” 

He shifted closer to her. “Accost? My own Mother? Dana, what do you mean? She called! Afterward!” 

“Mom’s not good with conflict. I didn’t want her to feel stuck between us. We’re all adults, Charlie, we should be able to work this out.” 

The red-haired man pounded the desk with his fist, bringing the dark-haired agent to the threshold between the two offices, but, at Scully’s quick wave, Mulder stepped back out of sight. “Bill told me to expect this, Dana. He wants you to change, to leave the Bureau, but you never will, I know that.” 

The diminutive pathologist pulled herself erect. “Charlie, I love my work. It’s important, necessary, and we’ve made a real difference with the truths we’ve uncovered.” She stuck out her chin. “I don’t see why I should give any of that up.” 

“Dana, I’m on your side here. I don’t want you to quit your job either. I just -” He shook his red curls. “You have to give Bill something. Some little thing, so he, as head of the family, can save face here.” 

Scully crossed her arms. “Why? Bill is a fine officer, with a bright future, as are you. We can all live our lives and do work we believe is significant, all of us.” She took a step toward him. “I don’t see how these choices I’ve made diminish you or Bill. Honestly, I just don’t.” 

“Agent Scully?” Walter Skinner stood in the doorway. “Everything alright in here?” 

She nodded. “Sir, this is my brother, Charles O’Shea Scully.” She held out her arm. “Charlie, this is Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner. He’s our supervisor here at X-Files East. He’s a former Marine, who served in combat in Vietnam.” 

An exchange of firm handshakes, then the bald director glanced toward the adjoining door, where Mulder was hovering. “When you are finished here, Scully, Mulder, step into my office please. I have some personnel files on your incoming agents I need to review with you.” 

Charlie checked the three faces regarding him solemnly. “Well, I should be on my way. I’m obviously keeping you from your important work.” A nod to the Assistant Director, a hard glare directed at Mulder, then his sister, before the red-haired officer was through the door. 

Scully sagged against her desk as the dark-haired man crossed the space to stand beside her. 

Walter Skinner snorted. “I see your problem, Agent Scully. I thought it was only the workplace that held women back. But family can make it just as difficult.” He disappeared around the wall. 

Mulder placed a hand on her shoulder sympathetically. “They don’t give out commendations for getting through those minefields, though.” 

She sent him her gratitude in a quavering upturn of her lips.

\--o-0-o--

Hard Times Cafe  
1404 King Street  
Alexandria, VA  
Wednesday, 8:18 pm

Scully checked her partner’s face as he waited beside her. _Why here?_ When he had suggested dinner, she had assumed he was looking for another quiet home-cooked meal at her apartment, not at this boisterous eatery, filled with families, where Tom Mix and William Hart gazed down on them as Gene Autry warbled. 

At the hostess’s nod, Mulder touched his partner’s back, then the two followed her to the second floor. The room was mostly empty, so the pair were seated at a small distressed-wood table close to the wait station. He dug a packet of oyster crackers out of a plastic basket on the table to pop it open, then rooted around happily, retrieving and crunching as she watched. 

She flipped through the menu, then closed it. “Mulder, this doesn’t seem like your kind of place.” 

He sent her a lop-sided grin. “All the better to avoid any unnecessary surveillance, Agent Scully.” 

Her forehead wrinkled. “Have we been? Under surveillance, I mean?” She checked around the dining area, where one other couple was seated close to the exit. She turned back to him. “So, what’s on your mind, Mulder?” 

They stopped while the waiter approached the table, then, after his departure, he crossed his arms on the placemat. “Scully, I can’t tell you how difficult it was to just stand there and listen to Charlie berate you. After what happened last year with your nephew, I can’t see why he still thinks the way he does. Please, tell me what I can do to help.” 

She nodded her thanks as her mineral water was placed on a napkin to her right, then, took several sips. “I wish I knew, Mulder. I don’t see how to square this circle. I may just have to give them what they want and -” 

“No!” The intense response was unvoiced. “You can’t.” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “-permanently end all contact with them and their families.” 

He shifted uneasily. 

A crash drowned out Gene for a moment. The partners reached instinctively for their weapons, then Mulder shook his head. One of the diners seated close to the door had sent his beer to the floor via an energetic wave during a particularly long story he was relating to his companion. The glass had shattered, so the wait-staff were running back and forth, apologizing as they carried towels and mops. 

Her shoulders sagged. “I know Bill. He’s playing at brinkmanship with me, as he always does, to try to make me give in and do what he wants.” After smoothing the long napkin on her lap, she raised her sorrowing gaze to his. “Why is it so hard for my family to accept who I am?” She interlaced her fingers on the place-mat to stare down at them. “Mulder, you have no problem with your sister’s choice of profession, or her life in academia, even though that may not be what you thought she would become. Ahab was thrilled I chose medicine. Even Mom, my hearth-focused Mom, supported me.” The auburn pageboy shook. “They were dead-set against me joining the Bureau, and she has never stopped prodding and prompting me about getting married, but they never wanted me to just stay at home dusting furniture for the rest of my days, the way Bill and Charlie do.” 

He reached across the table to cover her slight hands with his palm. She made no effort to shift them away, which set deep ridges in his forehead. “Scully, I -” 

Her trilling cell captured both their attentions, then she simply announced her name after placing the unit on her ear. She broke into a broad smile at the caller. “Nichols? How was the flight?” She nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell Mulder. We won’t be able to get out tonight, so we’ll be on our way out there in the morning.” She terminated the call. 

“What?” He leaned toward her. 

She rested the phone back on the tabletop. “Our U. S. Marshal has turned up dead. He must have known more than the Shadows thought he should. Nichols has him in their morgue so I can perform the autopsy as soon as we land. That document of his is locked in the safe at the Gunman’s. We’ll have to scrutinize it carefully on our return.” 

They waited while his onion rings and her salad descended in front of them. 

Mulder filled a small bowl with ketchup. “Okay, we’ll make the arrangements and be on the first flight out of National once it reopens in the morning.” He began chewing noisily. “You’re missing the good stuff, Scully.” 

She sighed as she nibbled at the tomato on her fork. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Suddenly feeling impulsive, she eyed the tightly-packed beer-battered rings. 

Their dark moods dissipating at the prospect of a new investigation, he slid a red bottle toward her. “Try it with the Reagan vegetable. One won’t clog those pristine arteries.” He snorted as a solid clump of three were moved onto her small plate. 

After breaking one free, she looked over at him soberly. “Mulder, we’ll have to fly separately.” 

With a sigh, he nodded. “Yeah, we will. We’ll have to make several connections and buy walk-up tickets, too. No reservations. That way, no one else is at risk.” He tried sending her a small grin. “Looks like you may have the chance to knock off more of the Cavalli-Sforza after all.” 

“Hum.” Their chili, hers the vegetarian with only onions as a topping, his the Texas chili mac loaded with onions, cheddar cheese, and beans piled on the peppery beef, all strewn over spaghetti, had arrived. They settled in to finish their meals.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
Washington Field Office  
Thursday, June 18, 1998  
2:42 pm

Cynthia set the handset back on the receiver. “Director Skinner!” She raced around the dividing wall. 

The bald man looked up from his notes, stacked beside the memo he was drafting. 

“Sir!” She came to a stop in front of his desk, grasping the edge for balance while her brunette curls flew. “Agent Mulder has a visitor, a Sandra Miller.” 

Skinner, now on his feet, was shrugging into his jacket. “They’re still in the air, Cynthia. We won’t be able to contact Mulder or Scully until late tonight.” 

She began smoothing down her hair with both hands. “Is it her, Sir?” 

He sent her a single nod. “Let’s make her as welcome as we can.” Skinner and Cynthia returned to the front of their joint offices, but Sandra had already stepped through into Mulder’s space. 

The bald Director’s breath hitched. The way she walked, the cant of her head, all were his. But, her arms were crossed as she took in the “I Want to Believe” poster, the WOW signal, the Bigfoot with breasts. She spun when she heard them step up behind her. Pointing at the poster, she frowned. “Is this who my brother is? Is it?” She was glaring at them both. “This is insanity!” 

The Assistant Director blocked her path. “Agent Mulder is headed to the West Coast, Doctor Miller. We had no idea you would be stopping by.” 

The hazel was hard as a glacier. “Why should that matter? Does he even know there is objective reality? Is it all some fairy tale, some science fiction?” She stalked past them both. “Don’t bother to tell him I was here. I don’t need idiots like this in my life.” 

Cynthia grasped her arm. “Doctor Miller, if you had seen the things they’ve seen, knew what they knew, you wouldn’t think this of him.” 

Her eyes softened at the insistence offered by a woman young enough to be one of her students. “So, where is Dana Scully? Can I at least speak with her? Someone must be sane here.” 

Cynthia bit her lip, so Walter Skinner answered for her. “Agent Scully is on her way out to the West Coast as well. They’re meeting with ASAC Nichols about a murder.” 

Sandra rounded on him. “Of what? Little green men?” Throwing her visitor’s badge on Cynthia’s desk, she stalked to the stairwell. “I wasn’t here.” Then, she was gone. 

The brunette turned to the Assistant Director. “We need to call Agent Nichols.” 

Skinner shook his head. “We can’t give their location away that easily, Cynthia. I’ll take care of this. In person.” He bent down. “This is what I need you to do...”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West Offices  
FBI Field Office  
San Diego, CA  
Thursday, 5:46 pm

Phil Nichols was just preparing to lock the front door when a blue Ford Taurus pulled into the space next to his Camry. He held up his hand at the two heads he could see in the front seat. 

Dana Scully stepped out of the driver’s side door. “Nichols? Sorry it took so long.” 

He smoothed his greying mustache as he unlocked the Field Office. “Not a problem. Come on in.” 

Mulder joined them. “We were attempting to avoid being tracked, especially now. That they’ve taken out a U. S. Marshal says they’re getting desperate.” 

The balding Montanan led them through the offices toward the small morgue in the rear. “Well, you may not think this is a hit after Scully works her magic. From what we could tell, and most of my guys have seen this often enough, this looks like a drug overdose.” 

Shoulder to shoulder behind him, the partners exchanged a glance before Mulder offered a droll comment. “That sounds even less like a U. S. Marshal.” 

Since they were entering the morgue, Scully trotted ahead of the two men. “Okay, where is he?” 

Nichols stepped over to a slight Asian man in a lab coat. “Mulder, Scully, this is Agent Brian Chan. He’s the orderly here.” 

The three exchanged handshakes before Scully assumed her pathologist’s persona. “Have you done any tissue testing?” 

A single nod shifted the black hair slightly. “Yes. We’ve taken blood and hair samples. The lab should have those finished tomorrow.” He shrugged. “This isn’t Headquarters. We’ve had to do some of the work ourselves, or use the regular police labs.” He led the three to a bank of cadaver drawers, then began sliding the one on the far right open. The body on the slab showed no obvious cause of death, so Mulder turned the right wrist over. 

“Yeah, here it is, Scully.” He poked the rising sun tattoo. 

She bent over his arm. “I see it. I’ll check over the skin and try to determine how long he has had this.” They exchanged a glance, then she turned to Chan. “So, where can I change?” 

The dark-haired agent’s lip curled. “Okay, we’ll leave you two to your work.” 

Nichols’s mustache twitched. No matter how much long the partners worked together, this was always something Mulder was willing to give a wide berth, so he grasped the younger man’s shoulder. “C’mon, Chief. I have some surveillance footage from where we found this guy that needs reviewing. You up for a little non-paranormal routine policing?” 

A shrug, then Mulder checked Scully’s face. “See you in a few.”

\--o-0-o--

Terminal B  
Reagan National Airport  
Arlington, VA  
Thursday, 6:14 pm

Sandra Miller dropped her backpack and carry-on bag onto the black seat beside her. With her check-in complete, she could spend the next few hours, between her arrival and the flight, making up notes for the measurements she and her students would be performing next. They had survived the budget axe, but, just barely. There were three journal papers she needed to get submitted before the summer break was out to solidify her little group’s standing, a task made all the harder by Tom Wilton’s death. She barely noted the stocky man with thick glasses who took up a seat across from her, until, that was, he started chattering into the black unit on his ear. 

“That’s right, we need to meet with Mulder at the FBI. This is all strangeness. It’s a case for him and his group of agents. Yeah. Yeah. Send those documents by bike messenger to the FBI Field Office. Okay, yeah, the reception isn’t the best here. I’ll have to call you back.” He terminated the call, sighed, then opened a thick notebook to begin writing. 

Sandra leaned forward. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you say you were sending documents to Mulder?” 

The heavy-set man eyed her. His face showed curiosity and sadness, but his voice only reflected reservation. “Ma’am, that’s official Bureau business. I can’t comment.” 

She crossed the narrow aisle to sit by him. “That’s of no interest to me. I’m just curious to know what you think of Mulder personally.” 

He tilted his head. “Ma’am?” He offered a resigned response. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met him face to face. I only know of him and his work.” 

Sandra began to push herself off the hard plastic seat. “Okay. Sorry to have disturbed you.” 

She pulled out a bound data notebook and a pad of paper to begin working over the last measurements she had collected in the wind tunnel, but stopped at the sigh she heard across from her. The pudgy man was engaged in some kind of internal debate, muttering to himself as he flipped through pages in his own notebook. “Sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to put you out.” 

Something in his eyes resolved, so he rubbed his cheek under the black frames, then leaned toward her. “Look, if you want to know more about Agent Mulder on a personal level, I know an old friend of his family who could probably help you out.” He began packing away his own notes. “He’s not far away from here, so I could give him a call, have him come to one of the meeting rooms here in the terminal, and you two could talk. We have two and a half hours to the flight, so you won’t miss it.” He turned to look down at her. “I promise you that.” 

One of Sandra’s dark eyebrows canted. She couldn’t tell if the man was speaking to her, or to himself. She had an odd feeling, as if not all his cards were on the table, but that there was some part of him who believed what he was saying was true. “Okay. While you contact him, I need to place a call to the person who is picking me up in San Diego to let him know I’ll be making my connections on time.” She crossed her arms where she sat, letting her jaw flex. Something had fluttered behind the man’s eyes, she could tell. 

He shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I have someone I’ll be meeting afterward, so I’ll call her, too.” Each retired to opposite ends of a nearby bank of pay phones to conduct their respective conversations.

\--o-0-o--

From the far corner of the gate area, Walter Skinner’s dark eyes narrowed at the portly man speaking with Sandra Miller. He knew who he was, this young assistant of the Smoker’s, from the few visits he had paid to the dark office in his days before Albert Hosteen’s memory had given him a final way out. He was surprised the young man had survived the devastation in Manhattan, yet, here he was. When he stood, then escorted Sandra Miller to the phones, the bald Director moved to keep them in view. He had to be certain she made her way back to the West Coast. He had gone so far as to purchase the lone remaining seat on this late-night flight to insure it.

Their dual phone conversations complete, he followed the two down a long twisting set of interior corridors, finally arriving at a wing of plain white walls, with multiple unmarked white doors. Sandra and the portly man waited outside the last one on the left. At three knocks, it opened, then they stepped inside. Skinner noted that Sandra had all her luggage with her. He knew that there was only a single entry into the room, but he wanted to leave nothing to chance. He turned the knob.

\--o-0-o--

The Smoker looked over as the bald Director’s form blocked the doorway. “Walter! What a pleasant surprise!” He crossed the room to shake his hand, then lead him to a seat by Sandra. “This is Caroline’s long-lost daughter! How wonderful for the family that she will be reunited with her and her brother, Fox, shortly.”

Skinner simply glared at the grey-haired spy. Whether the trap had been set for Sandra, or for him, he could no longer tell. 

A snort emerged from the chestnut-haired woman to his left. “We’ve met. This is my brother’s boss, or so he says.” She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. 

The bald Director removed his glasses to pinch the brow of his nose. For all their unquestionable intelligence, the Mulder siblings appeared to share the unfortunate habit of trusting exactly the wrong person at the precisely the worst moment. But, perhaps he could produce a non-violent end to this meeting, if he worked carefully.

The old spy was beaming openly at her. “My dear, I see many of your Mother’s most attractive features on your lovely face. How can be this old man be of assistance to you today?” He bowed. 

Sandra leaned forward. The distrust coming off the bald man beside her was nearly corporeal, but part of her had to know. “What can you tell me of my brother, Sir? Of his time in the Bureau?” 

Skinner realized the Smoker could hardly believe the opening he had been provided. “Why, Sweet Child, Walter could tell you more about that than I.” The old spy gazed at him expectantly. 

The Director released a sigh. “Agent Mulder has a...” Skinner shook his head. He was no good at games within games. “Sandra.” He faced her directly. “This man’s association with your family has never led to good outcomes. He has interfered in all of your lives more times -” 

“Interfered!” The Smoker snorted. “He’s correct there, Sandra. Your Mother and Father married while she was still a refugee from Austria after the end of the Second World War. He did nothing to help reunite her with her family, nor did he help her obtain her citizenship. I did. As you have probably gathered, her East European background would have counted against her at the time.” Crossing his arms, he leaned back. “I saw to it that it was not. Caroline is a naturalized US citizen as a result of my efforts.” He turned to Skinner. “Walter, is that not so?” 

As he nodded, the bald man could feel the noose tightening around them. 

Sandra glanced from one to the other. She was beginning to get an inkling of whom she could trust here. She had sat through too many faculty meetings where just such verbal battles had been fought. “Okay. That’s good to know. But, Fox? What about him? Is he the kook he seems to be?” 

One dark eyebrow arched, but the old spy smiled again. “Walter, how would you respond to that?” 

The Director gritted his teeth. “As his partner would say, Agent Mulder is willing to pursue leads that appear to be non-existent or ephemeral, but he has a strong intuition on many disparate subjects that often turns out to be correct.” He had taken another step into the trap. 

Sandra tossed her head. “Well, from what I’ve read, she seems to have a good sense of him.” 

The old spy nodded. “Yes, their partnership has been exceptionally productive. Am I correct, Walter?” 

Skinner’s nostrils flared. “Yes.” It was all he could do to not sock the Smoker in his smirking jaw, then haul Sandra out by the arm, luggage or no. 

The pudgy man lurking in the back of the room stepped forward. “But, Sir, there’s more Sandra should understand about him.” 

A kindly glance. “Indeed. There is a dark side to your brother, Sandra. When Agent Scully is working with him, she can keep it under control, most of the time. But, not in her absence.” He shook his head somberly, then opened a laptop in front of him. “These are surveillance videos from Skyland Mountain back in 1994, after Agent Scully was abducted by persons unknown.” Once the cursor hovered over the right-pointing arrow, he tapped the mouse pad. 

The frames were hazy, distorted through a fish-eye lens from a small camera in the ceiling. The several desk lamps scattered around the room cast odd shadows on the two men she could make out.   
Fox Mulder was shoving a man wearing a bloodied University of Maryland sweatshirt down into a chair. “Sit down, Duane,” he commanded.   
“No, you got to stop them! Hurry! Hurry! They were just out there! They were right outside!” the man shouted in response.   
Mulder looked over his shoulder, then the man staggered to his feet, his hands behind his spine.   
The agent threw him face-down on the table behind them, yelling, “Duane, settle down!”   
From the table, the man howled, “They’ll tell you were she is! The military’s in on it! Just ask ‘em.” Mulder hauled him upright by the back of the neck, waving a bloodied wrist strap in his face as he demanded, “Did you hurt her?”   
“No!” the man replied.   
“Did you hurt her?” Mulder repeated.   
“No!” The man shouted back.   
“What is this?” the agent snarled as he held up the plastic band. He began throttling the man, who started gagging. The choking continued as Mulder’s features grew more and more contorted. Finally, the dark-haired agent threw Duane into the chair, then began pacing back and forth, his hands over his face, as the man choked and coughed. 

The video stopped. 

“Unfortunately, Duane Barry died shortly after this interrogation by your brother. The official cause of death was asphyxiation.” The Smoker leaned forward. “Director Skinner, is this the situation as you remember it?” 

The bald man was on his feet. “Sandra, he’s showing you lies and half-truths. Don’t listen to him.” 

The old spy rose as well. “Walter? Is this not the truth?” 

Skinner crossed his arms. “I was not a witness to these specific events. You know that. I can neither confirm nor deny them.” 

“Duane Barry did die not long after Agent Mulder’s interrogation, didn’t he? You witnessed that, did you not, Walter?” 

“Yes.” The glare was granite. 

Sandra found her feet. “Okay. I’ve seen enough. I’m ready to go.” She began collecting her bags. “Director Skinner, I have a flight to catch.” 

The Smoker blocked the door. “Sandra, I wouldn’t necessarily trust this man either.” He returned to the laptop. “Let me show you something else. This is from Athens Hospital, just last month.” 

Both eyebrows canted, Sandra saw, in more hazy video footage, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, and her brother, gathered around a handcuffed man, a hospital bed in the background.   
Her brother was holding the man upright by his shoulders. “What were you planning on doing to Agent Scully!” he demanded as he began twisting the bound arms.   
There was another voice, although the words were unclear.   
The man began begging for relief, then the bald Director stepped into the hall.   
The images jumped to a new sequence, due to, Sandra suspected, the excision of several minutes of exculpatory material.   
Skinner was back now, staring down at the limp figure on the floor. “Agent Mulder, if I discover you have injured this suspect in your zeal, be certain you will be hearing from me further on this matter.”  
The man called out, “No, keep her away!”   
“I am a physician, Sir,” Dana Scully responded.   
The figures shifted abruptly, indicating another jump.   
Mulder was now towering over the man on the floor as he shouted, “You attacked a Federal Agent in a hospital! What were you thinking?” He crouched, still threatening, “Tell us who your superiors are. The Smoking Man? Who?”   
Scully had her hand on his shoulder as she commanded, “Mulder that will be enough.” 

Sandra spun away from the images, grabbed both her bags, then headed for the exit. 

Watching her go, the Smoker arched a grey eyebrow at Skinner. “There are no happy endings in this business, Walter. You should know that by now.” 

A snort, then the bald director was out after her. “Sandra!” He would have much to do to try to pull her back from the path the old spy was trying to set her on. Fortunately, they would have some time on the plane to make that happen.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West Offices  
FBI Field Office  
San Diego, CA  
Thursday, 6:53 pm

“Scully, you have to see this!” Mulder was pacing outside the morgue, stepping over to her and Agent Chan when they emerged, both still in their scrubs. 

Scully dismissed the Asian-American agent with a nod. “He’s taking the organs over for testing,” she explained. One glance at her partner’s glowing eyes had the corners of her lips curving, since the Hunter was dancing in front of her in all his glory. “So, show me, G-man.” 

He put his hand on her back to guide her across the hall. 

Nichols was swiveling back and forth on a tall stool. “Have a seat and watch.” He waited to press the play button until after she was settled. 

From a distance, the tape showed Tapping standing on a short ladder, working on a video camera. A trench-coated man passed behind him, then glanced over his shoulder. A few moments after the man passed, Tapping collapsed. 

Scully’s forehead wrinkled. “Step back a few frames.” Nichols and Mulder exchanged a glance. “It looks like we get a glimpse of his face.” She pointed. “There!” She was on her feet. “That’s Luther! Mulder, that’s the human, not the shape-shifting copy!” She looked from one man to the other. “Whatever Tapping had found out must have been seriously dangerous to them.” She stepped up to her partner. “We need to trace his movements, Mulder, see where he was out here.” 

Gazing down at her, Mulder nodded. “Yeah. We’ve already contacted the Marshal’s offices here in San Diego. They have three of their own on it.” He glanced over at the balding Montanan. 

“So do we, Scully.” Nichols slid off the stool to hand her a slip of paper. “Drop by this place, then check in at the Marriott over on Scranton. They honor the government rates for us.” 

The auburn-haired woman studied the address on the torn sheet. “Where is this?” 

Nichols shrugged. “It’s nothing to do with the case. It’s Sandra Miller’s house.” 

Scully turned to her partner and grasped his arm. “Mulder, let’s go. I don’t care that my body says it’s ten pm. This is too important. I’ll drive.” 

A whirl of contradictory emotions roared through him, then he bent into her face. “Okay, Scully.”

\--o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue, University City  
San Diego, California  
Thursday, 7:09 pm

Jerry Donato lifted a small aqua can of Fancy Feast from its box, before turning to look down at two pairs of eyes, one red, one odd-eyed turquoise and blue. He knew they were attached to a mismatched duo of felines who had materialized silently in the kitchen doorway when he began opening cabinets to retrieve their plates. “Now Sirs, your Mom will be back late tonight, so just a little bit more of this bachelor living and we'll all be set again.” He smiled at the round face of the ginger tabby. “Right, Seigneur?” 

“Urr.” Salazar flattened his rounded ears with impatience. 

Jerry shook his head, astonished, still, that felines, with their otherness, had come to co-habitate with humans. After spooning their dinners into two identical mounds on their separate plates, he set the dishes before their waiting faces. He straightened, then watched them deliberately, precisely sniff their meals, before picking out a morsel here, or there, to consume first before diving in. 

Licking his whiskers, Salazar lifted his head to cock both ears at the living room, while Tuggles continued sampling. After a glance back down at the dish, the British Shorthair trotted to the front room of the house to vault himself onto the front windowsill. 

Jerry frowned. Salazar wasn’t exhibiting his usual Falstaffian gusto at mealtime. _I hope he’s not sick._ He walked to the window where the red tabby crouched, his thick, ringed tail slapping the glass repeatedly. His round eyes were fixed on something in the yard, so, Jerry peered out carefully himself, checking for the object that was the focus of such intense scrutiny. But, no squirrel or vole or scrub jay was dancing on the porch or in the grass. There was, however, a blue Ford Taurus parked at the edge of the front lawn. He could see a man sitting in the passenger seat, lifting his arms as he faced the driver. The man was wearing a charcoal grey suit, so he assumed these were two FBI agents under the command of Phil Nichols, detailed for surveillance of Sandra's residence. He recognized the behavior, having engaged in it many times himself: a heated discussion to fill empty hours, possibly about soccer or the best cop shows of the '80's. He and Maria had shared many such long nights, chatting in the darkness on stakeout. His fingers found the M on Salazar's forehead. 

“Now, Lord Inquisitor, they're doing their job. They're watching out for your Mom, just like we are.” He huffed. Generally Nichols's agents were more cautious than this, setting up a half a block down and across the street. He'd have to mention it when he spoke next with the FBI ASAC. He turned to head back to the kitchen for clean-up, so missed the opening of the passenger door. 

As he entered the kitchen, he had to refrain from a shout. “Tugs, get out of the sink!” 

The Turkish Van, indulging that fascination shared with most members of his breed, was balanced around the soaking plates, his fan tail waving gleefully, soap suds covering his paws. The green eye narrowed at him, followed by several emphatic repetitions of his Siamese-like “Yeow!” It muffled completely the creak of the screen door hinges and two tentative raps on the oak of the front door.

\--o-0-o--

But, the FBI agents in the Taurus were staging nothing like covert operations that evening. In fact, they both hoped the next few moments would bring the longest investigation of their professional association to a successful close.

Dana Scully turned to her partner. “Mulder, do you think you're ready for this? I mean, really ready?” Her green-blue eyes lifted from the steering wheel to meet his hazel ones. 

Mulder rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I think I am.” He reached across the space to grasp her wrist. “Thanks, Scully.” 

She smiled gently in return, deeply grateful they had made their way past so many dead ends and distractions to arrive here. “Mulder, I can’t tell you what an honor it has been to have helped you work through this and find your sister. You deserve to have this closure, finally.” She covered his hand with her free palm, then they let silence settle over them both, she still rubbing his fingers with her thumb. They both jumped when a cell phone buzzed in one of their coats, but it was she who lifted her black unit to her ear. “Agent Scully speaking.” She mouthed 'Chan' at her partner, then waved her hand toward the house. 

He threw up his arms in defeat, then nodded. This was most likely Agent Chan’s check-in after having delivered Marshal Tapping’s organs for testing, so he swiveled to exit their vehicle. As he tripped his way up the brick walk to the front door, he found he was, oddly enough, feeling calm, finally, about this impending reunion. His Mother was safe in Santorini with Max, waiting word on her two children. His partner had put the debility behind her that had nearly driven her out of the Bureau and his life forever. He, at last, had real answers to share with his sister about the murder of their Father, as well as the shadowy organization that had snatched her away from him, so many long years ago. He found himself pulling away an unlocked screen door to stand in front of a plain wooden one, then knocked twice. There was no answer, so he tried peering in the window, but all he could see was a ginger tabby blinking up at him. _One of her cats._ He stepped back down off the porch to head to the side yard, where he spotted a red gate to the rear. After lifting the latch, he slipped through, then stopped. _So, this is Sam's garden._ He rested his fists on his hips, pushing the linen of his jacket behind them as he walked up and down the radial stone paths. At least here, with the tang of oregano and the pungent musk of basil rising around him, he could connect with a part of his sister's life he knew carried deep significance for her.

\--o-0-o--

Jerry wiped the last of the water from one back paw, then set the now-silent feline on the floor by his dish, before ruffling his forehead with his palm, the motion setting the long ears wiggling. “Eat up, you crazy cat.” As he rose to stretch the black terrycloth toward a towel hook, he became aware of movement in the back yard. _Now, how did those agents miss this?_ He stepped to the rear window. The same well-dressed man he had spotted earlier was circling the stone paths, his gait loose-limbed, yet imbued with an intense focus. The motions were familiar, intoxicating even. Letting out a little puff of surprise as he suddenly realized who the agent must be, he pulled away the back door to step out onto to the deck. But, the information on secret dealings from far away the Evans investigation had brought to light had him stopping short, then reaching behind him to unclip his weapon. So much was not as it seemed. The next few minutes would tell. “Sir? May I help you?”

When the man turned to face him, the eyes that met his brown ones dropped his hand to his side immediately. They were her hazel, of course, below that same quirked set to dark eyebrows that he treasured, but the gaze was of someone who had been trapped, staggering, almost past the end of life's endurance, on ever-twisting paths of some demonic maze. 

The agent blinked once, then canted his eyes toward the side gate, before firmly facing Jerry while lifting up his badge. “I'm Special Agent Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I'm told this is the residence of Sandra Ann Miller?” 

The thick-chested detective heard the hesitation before each word of Sandra's name but the second. He knew why. “Yes, Agent Mulder, you have the right place.” 

The dark-haired man's shoulders relaxed marginally as he tucked the badge away. “Thank you. Is Doctor Miller here?” 

Jerry shook his head. “I'm Senior Detective Jerry Donato with the San Diego Police Department.” He held up his own ID. “But, I'm not here in any official capacity.” He stepped down from the deck to extend his hand to the brown-haired agent, finding himself surprised by the firmness of the returned grasp. “I'm here as a friend, who stopped by to take care of her cats while she's away on business.” 

The tall man now took a step back, almost into the fronds of artemisia. “Oh.” 

Jerry tried to reach for his arm. “Agent Mulder, ASAC Nichols told me and Sandra who you are. I'm pleased to finally have the chance to meet you. I’m sorry you missed her.” 

But, the brown-haired man was recoiling, retreating from any contact. “Okay.” There was a longer glance at the gate. 

The black-haired detective tried to sooth the fidgeting agent. “Let me check her schedule in my notebook to see exactly when the flight she’s on will land.” It was obvious he had not been the one the tall man had exhaustively prepared himself to encounter, so hoped to give him some space to gather his thoughts. “Ah, let me see, here it is - “ But there was a blur of motion, which Jerry recognized as the setting off of another loose-limbed trot. The brown-haired agent was fleeing. It was the response his detective's sense knew was coming, so he dropped the notebook to head to the gate himself. 

But, Mulder was quicker, lifting the latch to step through before Jerry could reach him. “Scully!” The call was something between an invocation and the cry of a drowning victim. 

Jerry checked down the driveway. There was a red-haired woman approaching, as formally dressed as Mulder. Her shoulder-length pageboy, grey pantsuit over a coral blouse and polished black flats, would have told him, had he not already known, that she, too, was with the Bureau. Her precise, quick gait brought her to the tall man's elbow. 

As Mulder fell in step beside this woman whom Jerry knew to be his law enforcement partner, one long arm reached behind her, presumably to land on her back. The tall agent bent over her slightly. “I have a treat for you, Doctor.” The voice was lilting, almost teasing, completely other than the diffident speech of a few moments ago. 

The forward motion of the pair swept all three of them back into Sandra's enclosed retreat before the ginger-haired agent advanced toward Jerry, her arm extended, her head level with his. “Senior Detective Donato, pleased to meet you.” The handshake was as crisp, as professional as her partner’s had been. “ASAC Nichols has shown us your work. You were instrumental in getting to the right suspect in the Wilton case.” 

Jerry noted the downward, grateful glance the tall agent sent toward his diminutive partner. Apparently, Mulder split investigative duties with this supremely focused woman along their individual lines of skill, as he had found himself doing with Maria after so many years together. The black-haired detective offered a quick thanks in reply. “It was a real shock for the University.” 

But the copper-haired agent had stepped past him, toward Sandra's garden. “Mulder, is this hers?” She twisted to look up at her partner, then they exchanged broad, genuine smiles. Jerry felt a blast of grief for Maria blow past him, yet again, almost missing the diminutive woman's next words. “I saw that surveillance photo of her working back here, but I had no idea this was the result. It's magnificent.” After kneeling by the rosemary, she brushed her palm against the spiky pine-shaped leaves. She held her hand to her narrow roman nose. “California is perfect for herbs. Virginia has such terrible winters.” She rested her weight on one fist while she reached out with her free fingers to rub the fuzzy creeping thyme spilling over the stones. 

Jerry cast a surreptitious glance up at the tall man standing beside him. That haunted cast had not completely receded; he doubted, after what his official record had informed him the man had endured, that it ever would. But, it had been, augmented, he found himself thinking, by something he recognized. He had seen it on his own face in the pictures he kept on his desk of himself and his deceased Maria. “Tiny little thing, isn't she?” 

The brown-haired agent's gaze never left his own partner. “No, not at all.” 

Jerry nodded, knowing the gesture was unseen by either of them. But his detective's instinct told him he had everything he needed to calibrate these two. Despite the off-putting, frankly fantastic nature of the cases the pair investigated, he was determined, now, to see to it that Special Agent Fox William Mulder and Professor Sandra Ann Miller would successfully connect, finally, as brother and sister. He also intuited that the red-haired woman rising to her feet would be his staunchest ally in the endeavor. 

She had walked over to rejoin them. “Senior Detective - “ 

The black-haired man held up both hands. “Please, we're not on a case. It's just Jerry.” 

One red eyebrow hitched, then there was a slight tuck of her chin. “Very well. Then it's just Scully.” 

Arms akimbo, the tall man, who had settled just behind her left shoulder, tipped his head fractionally. “And I'm just Mulder.” 

The black-haired detective chewed his mustache. ASAC Nichols had told him such were the agents’s preferences. “Okay, now.” He fingered his back pocket, feeling for the notebook, then looking around his feet. Shadows were covering them, since the sun was approaching the horizon on this near mid-summer day.

The diminutive pathologist stepped to the oregano to reach into the waving green mound. “You dropped this.” She lifted his black-covered flip book out to carry it to him. “I'm assuming Doctor Miller isn't home right now?” 

Jerry took the pages from her outstretched hand. “That's right. She's in your neck of the woods, at least for this week, or she was. She was visiting her sponsors at NSF to discuss some upcoming work, but she called me to let me know she was coming back early.” 

“For her wind facility?” One corner of the red-haired agent’s lips quirked. “I have colleagues at The Johns Hopkins Hospital who have to go through all that. It's getting harder and harder, with all the budget cuts, to keep funding coming in.” She stepped over to her partner, then brushed his linen-clad elbow lightly with her fingertips. “Mulder, why don’t you head to the airport with Jerry? That way you can meet your sister there. I can finish up this case with Nichols and his people.” 

“Or,” Jerry interjected, “ you can both stay here. Sandie will be back around one am.” He had intended to take her out for a very late dinner. But, given who was standing in front of him, he would do anything to see to it this connection was made. 

The hazel eyes flicked from Jerry's face to his partner's, before locking with her green-blue ones. “No, Scully.” The diffidence was back, tinged with not a little fear. 

Now, she gripped his arm fully. “Mulder.” There was a hint of remonstrance in her tone, but it was barely a ripple on the depths of the sympathetic reassurance she extended.

Jerry watched the silent maneuvering between the two. Again, memories of debate after debate with Maria rushed through him. They needed, he knew, space and privacy to hash this out. “Let me just go finish up. Sandra doesn’t need to worry about coming home to a mess after as few hours of sleep as she’ll be getting.” Unacknowledged, he stepped up onto the deck, then back into the house. He closed and locked the door before leaning beside the rear window to continue watching them through double panes of glass that muffled their words. As he expected, the agents had begun debating the moment the latch had engaged. Mulder was all flying motion, leaping around the stone paths, while Scully stood, arms crossed, watching and waiting. Eventually, the tall agent stepped up to her, crossing his own arms, then leaned into her face. There were more words, softer now. She settled on Sandie's round bench to continue speaking, but her arms remained crossed. A few more perambulations, then he flopped beside her, close, molded to her shape, only a hair away from nestled against her. Silence fell, then after a moment, he reached down to idly cast a brown leaf from her knee with a flick of his finger. Her arms unclenched before she patted his wrist gently. Without a glance at the house, they both rose, fluidly and in unison, to begin heading to the gate, he still loose-limbed, while she remained as precise and controlled as when she had walked up the drive. A slap of wood, then they were out of sight. 

Jerry found tears stinging his eyes as he stroked a round head that had appeared on the windowsill before him. “Yes, Seigneur, change is coming.”

\--o-0-o--

Marriott Sorrento Valley  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, June 19, 1998  
6:49 am

Dana Scully was rubbing her auburn curls vigorously as she padded back to her room. She had put in a decent hour of laps in the pool, so the tension from the fifteen hours trapped in tight airplane seats had almost vanished. The plush over-sized towel would double as a robe, should she need to wrap herself against the cool and dry air of a west coast morning. As she rounded the corner, she saw Walter Skinner pacing on the hall carpet in front of her door. 

Enclosing herself fully in the white terrycloth, she trotted up to him. “Sir?” 

He spun. “Agent Scully.” 

One eyebrow arched at the puffy face looking down at her. “Sir, we didn’t expect you were coming out here. ASAC Nichols has three agents looking into the death of Marshal Tapping, in coordination with forces in the Marshal’s Service. This is one of our own. It won’t go unpunished. Agent Mulder and I will be heading back to the field office to hear their preliminary observations in a few minutes. I woke up on east coast time, so spent the early morning writing up my autopsy findings. A Marshal dropped by to pick up a copy and take it downtown. Between those and video surveillance we know he was killed by an injected poison, as well as who is responsible. We’re running his internal organs through testing to determine the poison’s exact formulation, as the symptoms were insufficiently specific. I’ll be briefing the Bureau and the Service on my findings when we arrive.” 

The Assistant Director favored her with a slight, if genuine smile. “With you, Agent Scully, I would expect no less.” 

She took a step back. “It’s a relief to have you here, Sir. Diplomacy is neither of our strong suits.”

Remembering her poise in the Courtyard, he shook his head. “You sell yourself short, Agent Scully. But, I’m here on another matter. Where is Agent Mulder? This concerns his sister.” 

She spun on her bare heel. “He’s still on the treadmill, Sir. The exercise room is this way.” As they walked, Skinner fell slightly behind his agent, who was continuing her update. “We stopped by her home last night, but she was in DC, Sir. Detective Donato met us there.” 

His eyes narrowed behind the round lenses as he realized his agents must have put in almost as long a day as he had. “Was there a problem with her residence?” 

She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “He was there to care for her cats.” Unwilling to expose her arms, she had stopped in front of a pair of glass doors. “It’s here, Sir.” 

Skinner could see Mulder, his short hair slick, his t-shirt darkened, pounding away in the far right corner of the otherwise unoccupied room. He rapped on the glass. 

When the tall agent saw who was waiting, he killed the power, then after the tread stopped rolling, stepped off. “Sir?” It was half greeting, half question, offered as he exited into the cool and dry air. 

“It’s about Sandra, Mulder.” Scully glanced to her right. “There’s a place we can speak in privacy back here.” When the three were perched on the ends of three reclining lounges alongside an open-air fire pit, she re-wrapped herself. 

Skinner leaned forward, bringing the heads of the two agents close to his. “She stopped by X-Files East yesterday, Mulder. She took one look at your office, pronounced you a kook, and stalked out.” The bald director scooted his seat closer to the dark-haired man. “I followed her the rest of the day. At the airport, she was intercepted by an associate of the Smoker.” 

“No!” The tall agent began pacing. “Not now!” After running his hands through his hair, he looked over at his partner. “Scully, you were right, I shouldn’t have waited here.”

She blocked his path. “Mulder, there’s nothing you could have done.” 

“She’s alright, Agent Mulder. Set that fear aside.” He waited while the younger man crossed his arms, then glared. “I was able to detach her from his snare, but I think that it was all a part of his plan.” 

Both agents were standing close to him now, but it was Scully who voiced the question. “Sir? What was he actually trying to do?” 

The eyes behind the glasses canted toward the tall man. “Poison her mind against Agent Mulder.” 

Now, it was the auburn-haired woman who began perambulating. “To drive a wedge between you two, one that might actually prevent any meaningful contact.” She stepped close to her partner, who was chewing his lower lip. “Mulder, we need to speak with her.” 

Skinner took off his glasses to rub his eyes with his fingers and thumb. “She may hear *you*, Agent Scully, as she considers you are the only sane one among us, but I doubt she’ll respond kindly to Mulder. The Smoker had video of his interrogation of Duane Barry after you were kidnapped.” 

“No. Not that.” The dark-haired man had his hands over his face. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time, Sir.” 

“That was exceedingly obvious.” The bald Director had gritted his teeth. “But, at least, I have seen for certain that you didn’t kill him.” 

His arms now crossed, a storm of emotions played over the tall agent’s features, but he said nothing. 

“Mulder?” One slight hand emerged from the terrycloth to brush his wrist. “What is he talking about?” 

His gaze never left the floor. “I got a little rough with him.” 

The pathologist turned to Skinner, who nodded. “He also had a creatively edited video of Mulder’s handling of Benner after his attack on you in Athens Hospital, Scully. I tried to speak with her on the plane, but she refused to engage.” 

“Yeah. Sounds like he got all my worst moments on candid camera.” The dark-haired agent began pacing, his forehead deeply furrowed. 

Skinner studied the tall man carefully for a few moments. “They have something on everyone, Agent Mulder.” He hoped this would calm the younger man.

Startled at the familiar choice of phrase, the dark-haired agent eyed his superior, then found himself wondering if all Consortium agents had been so warned. 

Scully moved between the two men. “I should go speak with her. I need to tell her that’s not who Mulder is, before the images are permanently wedged in her mind.” She swiveled to look up at her partner. “We’ve come too far to fail, Mulder. I won’t let that happen. It can’t.” She grasped his arm. “He’s just playing his games, we know that. What I don’t understand is why you two finally connecting is such a threat to them after so much churn in their organization. Did she see something they couldn’t erase? That we would only understand after all our efforts to expose them?” 

“Yeah.” The response was soft. “Maybe you’re right, Scully.” He looked over at the Skinner. “Sir, are you certain you know where Sandra is right now?” 

His shoulders sagged. “Detective Donato met her, so she’s either at her place or in her office at the University. She had her nose buried in notes and plots most of the flight here. She apparently shares your ability to never sleep, Agent Mulder.” 

The tall man stepped over to his superior. “Sir, once we’re done at the Bureau, we’ll be taking off to go contact my sister. Use my room to catch a few hours yourself before you head back. Or, stay. It seems most of the action is here, anyway.”

“Not necessary, Agent Mulder. I’ve already checked in.” The three left the warmth of the space to head back to their rooms, Skinner in front, the partners behind. 

Scully wrapped the towel more tightly around her. “Looks like the guys will go ahead with the screening without us again, Mulder.” 

He bent over her back. “Ah, what’s a year when you’ve been waiting five million, Scully?” 

Skinner arched a dark brow as they walked.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West Offices  
FBI Field Office  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 7:39 am

When Phil Nichols spotted the three agents entering his packed conference room, he maneuvered his way through the clogged aisle to snag Mulder by the arm, leading them to the front with him. He tapped the lectern microphone. “Good morning. I’d like you to meet my colleagues from the east coast.” His voice was its most gravelly. “The Marshals are already familiar with Agent Scully’s work.” He pointed to her, before finishing introductions all around. 

The diminutive pathologist took his place behind the lectern. “These are the findings from my autopsy of yesterday evening, conducted with the assistance of Agent Chan.” She scanned the audience to find his black hair, then nodded to him. Turning over the first page, she took a breath. 

“We’ve read your report, Agent Scully.” Castor Pierce, the senior Marshal, interrupted her. “Is the tox screening back yet?” 

Chan shook his head. “No. Sir. It takes time for the labs here. If you have facilities we can use that would be faster, we’ve saved back samples...” 

“That’s not something the Marshals usually require.” The grey-haired man, who had refused to remove his sunglasses, strode to the lectern. “Agent Scully, in the interests of wasting no one’s time, I’d like to have the updates from night surveillance reported out.” 

After a single upward glare, she settled into the empty seat between Nichols and her partner. 

A slight man with receding black hair crossed the room to stand beside Pierce. “Agent Shiffeln, Bureau. We tracked the suspect to an apartment in La Jolla, on Playa del Norte Street. He’s on the top floor. We’ve had the place under continuous surveillance since he arrived.” 

Mulder stepped over to them. “We’ve had contact with this suspect before. He’s been involved in numerous assaults, transportation of illegal materials. You should consider him dangerous. Any reason why he hasn’t been brought in already?” 

Pierce took off the sunglasses to glare at the tall agent. “The residence is rented by Alice Franklin, his mother, who is wheel-chair bound. She has resided at the current location for at least the past ten years. We’re treating this as a hostage situation. If we can get him out of there, we can end this without innocents being hurt.” 

Shiffeln cleared his throat. “That’s my department. I’ll be a visitin’ door-to-door salesman with Marshal Herrod. Between the two of us, we can bring this guy down.” Shiffeln scratched his greying stubble. “No muss, no fuss.” 

Herrod nodded. “This is one of mine. I won’t rest until this is settled.” He rubbed his eyes, fatigued after the overnight flight he took upon receiving news of his subordinate’s death. 

Nichols and Scully exchanged a glance, before she seconded her partner’s warning. “Agent Shiffeln, I’d like to back up Agent Mulder here. Do not underestimate this man. He was involved in the destruction of the Palazzo de Medici and the deaths of Guiliano and Reynaldo D’Amato in March 1996. We’ve been tracking him on and off ever since.”

Pierce simply sneered. “Then, why is he still wandering free, Agent Scully? Not extraterrestrial enough for an X-File?” 

She rose to meet his gaze. “Punishment for his crimes requires assembly of evidence sufficient for conviction. That investigation is still in progress.” 

A snort launched from the senior Marshal. “Surprised anyone in your group even knows what evidence is, Agent Scully.” He glared at her, then, at Mulder. 

Director Skinner stepped up to the lectern. “We’re getting off track here. Are you prepared, Agent Shiffeln?” He turned his gaze to the slight man. 

“Sure thing, Walt. I just need to go change.” He broke free of the clot of agents to head for the exit. 

Nichols placed a hand on Skinner’s shoulder, drawing the bald Director away from the others. “Walt, you look done in. You have a place to crash for a few hours?” 

The jaw set firmly. “Just some coffee and I’ll be fine.” 

The greying Montanan shook his head. “Not necessary. You can spell me this evening. I’ve had at least three hours sleep, you’ve had none.” 

Mulder stepped up to them. “Sir, it’s a short drive. We’ll call.” 

“I’ll head to my room.” A sigh, a nod, then the Assistant Director was out the door.

\--o-0-o--

Playa del Norte Street  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday, 8:47 am

Nichols had finished his conversation with the head Marshal as their assembled officers waited behind them. “We ready?” 

A curt nod, then Pierce spoke into his wrist. “All exits covered. Proceed.” 

Shiffeln and Herrod, wearing identical dark green suits, made their way inside the Spanish-styled four-story structure. 

In the rear of the assembly, Mulder bent over his partner, his breath warm on her ear. “At least we’re only dealing with humans.” 

She sent him a quick eye-roll, but said nothing. 

Back in the front, Shiffeln’s voice crackled out of a hand-set. “You guys better get up here. You’re not gonna believe this. The guy and the old broad ain’t here. Her wheelchair is, though. Got enough clothes, wigs, and make-up for a Cabaret performance scattered around.” 

Nichols turned to one of the agents who had been on stake-out. “What have you seen?” 

The man shrugged. “A lot of people, mostly leaving in groups of two or three. We’ve had cameras watching both front and rear entrances. We can review the tapes here or back at the offices.” 

The balding Montanan gestured for the partners to come to the front of the group. “Chief, if you and Scully wouldn’t mind, you know this guy best. Think you can pick him out in a disguise if we set you two up in the van to go through tapes?” 

The agents exchanged a glance, then headed back to the surveillance truck.

\--o-0-o--

Playa del Norte Street  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday, 9:13 am

Dana Scully tapped the monitor she was using. “Mulder, I think this is he.” 

He rolled his chair beside hers to watch over her shoulder as she replayed the tape. “Or, she.” He grinned down at her. “He’s the right height, but, an ugly blonde.” Turning back to his monitor to fast-forward through the images, he grunted. “The woman’s passing as this man.” He poked the screen. “Not enough swagger in the walk.” 

Pierce had been glaring at them both from a seat toward the front of the van. “About time, you two. They have a forty-five minute head-start on my people.” 

After scrolling forward a few more minutes, Scully tucked her chin. “Tell your people to look out for a red Impreza, Utah license plate. She just entered the vehicle and drove off.” She tried zooming, then shook her head. “I can make out the second digit of the license number is 5 and the last is an L, but the rest are blurred.” 

Mulder crossed his arms. “They traveled separately, and she made a point of driving past the van. She may be acting as a decoy.” 

Nichols nodded. “Okay, the Bureau will alert the airports, trains, buses, ports and the Highway Patrol in case they try to leave the city. I’ll also contact the SDPD. They have more eyes than we do. We can at least get her in for questioning, even if she knew nothing of his actions.” 

Pierce snorted. “Locals. Amateurs.” 

The balding Montanan shook his head. “Not a bit. I’ve worked with them on other cases. They’ll bring her in, regardless of her current appearance.” 

Wordlessly, Pierce stalked out of the van, slamming the door behind him. 

Nichols glared at the chair the Marshal had been using. “You’d think no one could do law enforcement but them.” He shook his head, before smiling over at the partners. “Thanks, Chief, Scully. I can say it, even if he won’t.” He opened the door to exit, then paused. “Great. We’ve attracted the media. Hang tight, guys.” He closed the door behind him, giving the partners some quiet. 

Scully slumped down to rest her head on the back of the seat. 

Mulder reached over to brush his fingers over the back of her hand, which was lying limply on the worktable. “Okay, Scully?” 

One corner of her mouth quirked. “Tired. A little achy.” She straightened. “Not bad.” She turned to him. “Pierce really needs to dial it back a notch. We’re all on his side.” 

He shifted next to her. “Try telling that to him.” 

They exchanged tiny grins, then, as the handle rattled, faced the door. 

Nichols poked his head in. “The SDPD has the Impreza.” 

The partners were on their feet. Mulder let out a huff. “That was fast.” 

The dark look on Nichols’s face brought them to a halt. “Unfortunately, Scully, we’ll be needing your services yet again.” 

She cocked her head. “Accident?” 

The greying head shook. “Not automotive. The vehicle was found on the meridian of the 805. Looks like another poisoning.” 

She looked up at the tall agent’s face, before turning to the ASAC. “Do we have the body, Nichols, or do the Marshals?” 

“No, neither. It’s in the morgue at the Northern Division. SDPD’s head pathologist, Hitchens, is standing by to offer you any assistance you may need, Scully.” Nichols pulled the van door aside to let them descend. “We’ve got a uniform to get you there in style.” 

The tall agent smirked down at his partner as he clicked the car door open for her. “You got that wave memorized yet, Doctor?” 

She cocked an eyebrow at him after he closed it behind her. 

He held his hand vertically, rotating it from side to side.

Nichols’s mustache was twitching as she was driven off, then he watched while Mulder, keys in hand, headed for their rental while humming a snippet from Thomas Arne’s ‘Alfred.’ “Those two.” He smiled to himself.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 11:04 am

Dana Scully, still in her scrubs, emerged from the small morgue at the back of the Division Building. As she was pulling off her face mask, she walked down the corridor to a tight group of waiting men: Nichols, Mulder, Donato, a Latino, and an African-American. 

She nodded to Sergeant Johnson, whom she had met briefly on her arrival. “Sir, this has all the hallmarks of cyanide poisoning. There was no blockage of the heart, but, yet, cardiac arrest is my diagnosis. She had flushed skin, and I’ve taken blood samples to test.” 

The tall African-American nodded. “I’ve met this woman.” He looked over at Donato and the Latino. “She was the one claiming to be Evans’s sister.” He turned back to the diminutive agent. “Sorry, need to finish introducing you. Agent Scully, this is Richard Gonzales, one of my detectives. He’s partnered with Jerry Donato.” 

She stripped off the latex glove to extend her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Detective Gonzales. Apologies for the circumstances.” 

He waved the words away. “No problem. You think this was self-administered?” 

She nodded. “We’ve seen this before, Agent Mulder and I, in Athens just last month on a previous case.” She turned to her partner, who was now standing beside her. “Is the analysis of Benner’s capsule back yet?” She would not, in present company, discuss who was performing that for them. 

The dark-haired agent nodded. “I gave them a shout while you were slicing and dicing, Scully. The capsule’s formulation is quite specific. Our experts tied it to a Japanese medical firm.” They held each other’s gaze while the SDPD partners shifted closer to each other. 

A quick intake of breath, then Donato called out a terse question. “The Hikkado Medical Researchers?” 

The FBI partners looked over at him, before the tall agent nodded. “Yes.” 

“So, Sandie had it right.” The thick-chested detective found himself unable to stop grinning. 

Scully took off her cap. “Yes, she did.” 

Nichols held a folder toward her. “Chan brought this in while you were working.” 

She read the pages, then passed the document to her partner. 

Mulder looked it over, then up at her. “What I am supposed to see here, Scully?” 

“Marshal Tapping was killed with an injection of cyanide as well, Mulder.” She took the sheets back from him. “I would be very surprised if all three aren’t the same formulation. It looks like all our cases are coming together.” 

“Just one question.” The tall agent had his hands in his pockets. At her quirked eyebrow, he threw out a droll quip. “Do we draw straws to see who gets to pass the news on to Pierce?” 

The swinging doors pushed open behind Donato. “Pass *what* on to Pierce?” The grey-haired Marshal sneered as he came to a halt. 

Scully looked up at him. “Luther’s mother, if that’s who she really is, expired due to self-ingestion of cyanide, probably in a capsule.” 

The sunglasses snapped off. “What do you mean, if that’s who she is?” 

Mulder shifted closer to his partner. 

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. “I noticed evidence of plastic surgery around the eyes. It’s similar to the procedure I have read about that Asians had performed to make themselves look less Oriental back about fifty years ago.” She stepped up to the Marshal. “I’m having skin and tissue samples DNA analyzed. I’ve asked them to look for specific markers that will give her heritage away.” 

The Marshal leaned into her face. “This sounds like a bad forties movie, Agent Scully. Can you ever say anything I could take seriously? Ever?” 

She drew herself up straight. “Sir, is there a problem with my previous autopsy?” The question was asked in her driest, most professional timbre.

Pierce took a step back. “No.” 

She advanced on him. The foot of height he had on her seemed to shrink as she approached. “Then, you can trust these results as well. We are working on a case that has connections to Japanese medical research corporations, and we suspect a tie here. Has anything been uncovered about Luther’s whereabouts?” She waited. 

The Marshal slid the dark lenses over his eyes. “He was spotted in a traffic camera out on I-78. That’s all I’m willing to say.” 

Mulder snorted. “You mean, you lost him?” 

The teeth set under the sunglasses. 

Scully crossed her arms. “Sir, do you have any idea what Tapping was looking into when he came out here? Director Skinner spoke with his supervisor, but he passed on no details.” 

The greying Marshal glared at her. “Are you challenging my authority, Agent Scully? Why are you questioning me?” 

The tall agent stepped to her side. “She’s right. Luther is scuttling back to his Smoking Master. If the Marshal’s Service can make headway against that Red Eminence, you will have the Bureau’s gratitude.” He pushed his fists against his hips. 

The auburn-haired pathologist cocked an eyebrow. “But, Tapping’s actions here in San Diego before his death may tell us why he was such a threat.” 

Pierce snarled at the partners, Mulder first, then Scully. “A threat? What are you saying, here?” 

Nichols glanced at the SDPD officers, then nodded. “There are organizations working within the government to retain a degree of Cold War power none should have in a representative democracy such as ours, Sir. That’s who is threatened.”

After a snort, Pierce rounded on them. “You are all insane. The Marshal’s Service is terminating this ad-hoc cooperation between itself and the Bureau, as of right now. If any of you try to investigate Tapping’s death, be certain, we will respond with lethal force. The Marshals take care of our own.” He glared at the faces around him. “Is that understood?” He spun on his heel, then he was gone. 

Johnson watched the Marshals clear out at their superior’s command. “That went well.” He gazed down at Nichols. “So, how do the SDPD and the Bureau proceed here? We have two corpses and not enough answers to explain them.” 

The greying Montanan chewed his mustache for a moment. “We’ve pushed people around the clock on this one. I can bring in a few more fresh officers so we can look into Alice Franklin’s past and contacts. If she’s been here ten years, she must have a network of associates we can run to ground.” He checked Johnson’s face. “A little routine police work at this stage will get us further along than a cavalcade of dramatics, wouldn’t you say?” 

The African-American nodded. “I’ll set up a rotation with my detectives, transferring the search every eight hours. Any incidental information we pick up on Tapping will be ours.” He turned to his officers. “Detectives, take a breather. You’ve been at this since overnight.” 

Nichols stepped over to the partners. “Chief, Scully, I’m not gonna tell you two what to do, but I know you both have unfinished business, and Walt will be rotating in here in a few hours.” 

Scully looked up at Mulder. “We can at least stop by the University so I can speak with Sandra. Perhaps I can convince her you’re not as much of a loon as she thinks.” 

He bent over her gratefully. “You and your heavy-lifting, Doctor.” After the auburn-haired pathologist changed, the pair headed for the double glass doors and the street.

\--o-0-o--

4132 Mayer Hall  
University of California at San Diego  
Friday, 12:06 pm

Sandra Miller, half her salad still sitting in a plastic tray, looked up at the slight figure in the doorway, whom she recognized from her review of the agent’s official FBI folder. “Agent Scully?” She dropped her notes on the desk before crossing the office. “What brings you here?” 

The pathologist lowered herself onto the metal seat Sandra had just cleared of reprints. “I think you already know why, Professor Miller.” 

The chestnut-haired woman cocked a too-heavy brow at her. “You’re going to try to convince me my brother doesn’t believe in little green men, and he fosters orphan puppies in his free hours?” She dropped her hazel gaze to the papers in front of her while picking up a pen. 

Scully tucked her chin, trying not to laugh outright. “Hardly. He does well to keep an ever-augmented school of fish alive in his aquarium.” That earned her a one-sided smirk, so she pressed forward. “As for the other-” She paused as she bent into her bag to retrieve her laptop. “-I have evidence here for you to review.” 

Sandra eyed her cautiously. “*Please* don’t tell me you see them, too, Scully.” 

Both auburn eyebrows now in motion, a short bark escaped the agent. “Professor Miller, I feel like I’ve stepped through the Looking Glass.” Rounds of basement arguments were dancing in her head. “I’m a doctor. The first thing we’re taught in medical school is that, if you hear the pounding of hooves, look for horses, not zebras. It’s a reminder to check for the common causes of an illness based on the symptoms first, before chasing something rare or unknown. But, Mulder starts with the okapis in the rear-view mirror and races away from there. I’m also a physicist. I’ve tried to lay out our evidence here following the dictum that extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof. You and I both know this, but, I’ve had to work and work to get Mulder to understand we can only accept that which we have proven to be true, with verified data and confirmed accounts. I won’t even discuss how painful assembling a case to go to trial is for him. He attempts to present his evidence step-by-step, but often, what’s a simple mental stroll for him is a leap off a cliff for the rest of us. I’m better at laying out an A, B, C through to Z case for a jury, which is why most of the testimony in the Saunders trial you’ll read is from me.” She placed the black box on her lap to grasp the hinged end. “Please don’t misunderstand, he’s brilliant when he’s intuiting connections that many, many times I would totally miss. It makes him a superb criminal profiler, and helps us make arrests that stick, even if we have to turn the trial itself over to lawyers, either from the Bureau, or from outside.” She twisted on the seat. “But, as far as getting acceptance for his other ideas, it’s been a detriment. Unless we can back up what we say, we might as well be Erik von Daniken, misled by a humorous French reworking of H. P. Lovecraft into saying Martians built the Parthenon.” 

Sandra sat up straight. She regarded the slight woman in the charcoal-grey suit carefully for several long moments, then threw her chestnut curls back over her shoulder, before she rose to walk around her desk. Leaning against it, she crossed her arms. 

Scully blinked, the familiar gesture setting her spine rigid. “Doctor Miller?” 

Her long fingers waved. “Please, it’s Sandra.” She held her hands out. “Let me look at that. I’ve had to give testimony in court myself, as an expert witness for airplane malfunctions in crashes, so I understand his frustration.” She was not yet ready to explain further to the somber woman blinking up at her that it was the one time she had tried to work with James on a make-or-break case for him. In spite of all her efforts, her adoptive brother had failed miserably in closing arguments, so had lost. “It’s good to work with someone who doesn’t think the way you do. It keeps you on your toes, mentally, and the results are often superior to what one would accomplish alone.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist sent the professor a full-wattage smile. “Okay, then, it’s Dana.” After opening the laptop, she clicked in her ten character password, before cd’ing into the Evidence directory. She passed it over, keyboard toward the professor. 

Without a word, Sandra walked back around to her chair, settled in, propped her feet, ankles crossed, on the desk, only then beginning to read. 

The long hours of the past weeks wearing at her, Scully sagged against the metal ribs of the chair back. She had set her cell phone to vibrate so this conversation could proceed interrupted, but it had buzzed almost continuously since she had entered the professor’s office. She shook it free of her jacket pocket to check the numbers, before releasing a long, silent breath. 

The chestnut-haired woman lifted her eyes from the screen, shifted to one hip, then held out a thick clump of keys, all wedged on a single over-sized ring. “If that’s Bureau business, open the office next door with this.” She gripped one marked with green tape. “Feel free to use it as long as you wish. Jeanette has the day off, so you won’t be disturbed. Also, please forgive the mess. Judy and I haven’t had the heart to clear it way yet.” She fell silent, then resumed tapping the mouse-pad. 

The agent took the heavy batch. “Thank you.” She headed into the next room. Once the door was closed, she had to hop over several stacks of journals and piles of reprints before finding the desk. Balancing carefully on the edge of Tom Wilton’s chair, she pressed the first speed dial button. “Mulder? It’s me.” 

“Yeah, Scully, tell me what’s going on. Should I come in?” 

She crossed one arm over her ribs before leaning back. “She’s reading over our evidence. Give it some time. What’s happening with the Franklin investigation?” 

“Dunno. Nichols is coordinating with Johnson. They’ll get back when they need us, he said.” 

One corner of her lips quirked. “How many times did you call him, Mulder?” 

She heard a huff. “Only three, Doctor.” 

She jumped at the knock on the door. “Sorry, this may be Sandra. I’ll call you back.” 

“Yeah.” The call terminated, Scully crossed the same obstacles to open it. 

Sandra, laptop in hand, was standing in the doorway. “Dana, I’m impressed with how thorough you have been, but I’m afraid I can’t review all this right now. I have some papers to work on, but, please, come by my lab this evening. I have an experiment to get underway, then I’ll have hours free to go over all you’ve done. I’ve typed the address into a file so you will know where to park.” 

The agent tucked the phone away in her jacket. “Okay. We’ll do that. I know how difficult it is to find time to write papers with all the other duties of a job.” 

As they stepped into the hallway, the professor passed the agent the Dell. “Oh? What did you manage to publish?” Her dark eyebrows drew together. 

The auburn-haired pathologist tipped up her chin to meet a familiar hazel gaze. “The results of multiple investigations, some still under review. While down in Chiapas, I was introduced to several herbal compounds, efficacious as antibiotics and for relief of influenza symptoms. We also uncovered a new archaea-bacterium species from deep lithosphere cores in Washington State. I worked with Professor Susan Miles at Johns Hopkins to DNA-type it. We’re actually getting two publications out of it in specialist journals.” She found herself smiling. “I doubt you’re recognize them. We swapped first authorship there.” 

The chestnut-haired woman stopped her with a hand on her arm. “How did the Bureau feel about this, Dana? Did they support you?” 

Clutching the laptop, Scully shook her head. “Not officially, no. But Mulder found the funds for the page charges for the Chiapas discoveries, somehow.” She glanced down at the blinking battery light. “Otherwise, I was prepared to pay for then myself.” She looked up to see a full grin spread across the professor’s face as she draped the keys across the cradle of a long, slender hand. “We’re waiting to hear back from the reviewers of the Archaea-bacterium manuscripts about our revisions. He also used Bureau funds for covering Rosen’s dissertation-related publications. She is, after all, just starting out.”

Sandra’s hazel eyes were dancing as she tucked them away. “Okay. I look forward to speaking again this evening. Anwar and I should have our set-up done by seven.”

\--o-0-o--

along Genese Avenue  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 2:19 pm

“Scully.” She straightened unconsciously at the voice emanating from the black phone. “Sir? What may we do for you?” 

Mulder canted his eyes toward her, but had to stop at a crosswalk for students on bikes and skates. 

“Agent Scully, I am here at X-Files West, but, the place is deserted. Where are you?” 

One cheek twitched. “Sir, they’re all at the Northern Division of the SDPD. Nichols and Sergeant Johnson are working out a surveillance schedule. We’ll head over to you and fill you in.” When she terminated the call, she looked over at her partner. “X-Files West, Mulder. Skinner’s waiting.” 

He nodded. 

She shifted on the seat. “Mulder, are you okay?” 

He sent her an uncertain grin. “Yeah. I can’t help feeling like I’m still sitting out in the cold, watching the reunion inside.” 

She reached for his arm. “Mulder, that’s the last thing you should think. Sandra has a lot on her mind right now, as do you. When I told her you helped pay for my Chiapas papers, it broke the ice. She understands, I think, that you respect points of view different from your own.” 

“Oh.” He turned into the parking lot for the Bureau office. “Don’t make me out to be too much of a Saint, Scully, I’ll never be able to live up to the expectations of you Dames Rectitude.” 

She sent him a broad smile. “I’d say you already have, G-man.” 

His only response was a nervous grin as they exited the vehicle. 

Robert Schiffeln on his heels, Walter Skinner was striding out to them. “Agents!”

The partners exchanged a glance before the dark-haired Section Head responded. “Sir?”

But the little man had raced out ahead to stand in his path. “Are you the Big Cheese?”

Mulder set a glance of confusion toward the auburn-haired pathologist. “You been filling his head with fables, Scully?” 

She tucked her chin. “My apologies, we met earlier, Agent?” 

“Robert Schiffeln, Ma’am.” He extended his hand. “Phil said he mentioned my idea to you.” 

She grasped a palm almost as small as her own. “Oh, yes, I remember, the undercover plan.” She waited for Skinner and Mulder to join them. “We should discuss this inside.” Once they were gathered on the seats in the ASAC’s office, she faced the slight man. “Agent Schiffeln, Nichols told us of your expertise in undercover work.” 

He grinned. “That’s Phil. He brought me in to your group because we had worked together to take down several drug cartels in the old days.” He began waving his hands. “This Consortium of yours, they’re no worse that what we’ve hacked before. Sure, they wear fancy suits and all-” 

Mulder frowned. “Schiffeln, they’d kill you in a heartbeat if they suspected you but we couldn’t pull you out in time.” 

“And the cocaine guys wouldn’t have? Really, I get it, see, I do. Walt’s filled me in a bit.” He leaned forward. “The best way to know the future, Miss Scully, is to invent it.” He had assumed his plummiest upper-class British accent. “Now-” He paused as he pulled on his shirt collar. “-Imagine me in a three-piece suit as I say that. I got’em, you see, all pressed and ready to go. Just say the word.” 

Scully’s eyebrows were as far up her forehead as they could travel. 

Mulder shook his head. “Let’s shake this out a bit, Schiffeln. We have a dead Marshal on our hands, even if Pierce won’t let us work the case. Once we know where to send you -” 

“But, that’s no problem!” He turned to the bald Director. “Walt, didn’t you tell them this Group is advertising job openings like any other government agency? All I have to do is apply.” 

The partners exchanged a glance before Scully faced their superior. “Sir?” 

Skinner took off his glasses. “Yes, he’s correct there. Pendrell and Phillips checked the place out; an office with bare desks and no staff down on K Street is the address listed to submit resumes.” He replaced the spectacles. “I’m as baffled by this as you are by this open recruiting. It’s not the procedure that has been used in the past.” 

The conversation was suspended by a rattling cell that Mulder held to his ear. “Okay. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Tucking the phone away, he looked over at the others with relief. “Nichols and Johnson are ready for us now.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 3:04 pm

Phil Nichols waved the partners and Skinner to the front of the room to have them take seats with Donato and Gonzales. With the Marshals absent, there was more space for the groups of officers and agents to gather. His plan to forge bonds between the SDPD and the Bureau was working, he could tell. Men and women who had been strangers just 24 hours ago were sitting side-by-side, swapping pictures of their families. But, now, he needed to set them on the tasks they were there to perform. “If we could get started!” He had used his loudest, scratchiest voice. But, it barely made a dent in the chatter. 

“People! Front and Center!” The boom out of the slender African American snapped all heads around to face him. He lifted a stack of identical schedules off the lectern to begin passing them around. “We’ve assigned mixed groups of agents and officers to track the different threads of Franklin’s life: the colleagues she kept in touch with, her neighbors, the senior center she frequented. We need to get a sense of how this woman sold herself to others, so we will know how to fill in the holes in her past. We are looking for anything that ties her either to the East Coast or to Japan. Anything, no matter how mundane or trivial, may be the break we need. We know our suspect passed himself off as her son; let’s find out how far the pair of them pushed this.” He held up the page. “Be polite. These aren’t criminals we’re interviewing. These are just ordinary citizens. Read the assignments through, get yourselves in your groups. We’ll be switching off around ten tonight. I’ll take questions in a few minutes.” 

Nichols turned to his fellow X-Files agents. “Chief, Scully, I hate to hit your jet-lag even harder, but you’ll be coming back on for the ten pm shift.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist rose. “We’ll be here, Nichols.” 

Mulder turned to Donato and Gonzales. “We’ll see you then, Detectives.” The four shook hands, then parted for the afternoon.

\--o-0-o--

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday, 7:03 pm

Fox Mulder was standing at the open door to the wind facility, unable to move. His sister was there, working away diligently. He could see, underneath the tunnel, her feet appear and disappear as she climbed in and out, hear her speaking to her graduate student, but he remained rooted in place. He knew his partner was waiting patiently at his side, her small palm on his back, pushing him. 

“Long breaths, Mulder. Relax.” She started rubbing in circles, which normally would have soothed him, but, instead, he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. Finally, her hand shifted away. “Mulder, I have the car keys. I’m going in. Follow me when you’re ready.” 

He bit his lip, then fell in line behind her. _I’m going to see my sister._ He tried rotating his shoulders to relax as he walked, but he kept feeling like his head was about to float off his body. _My sister is here._ Then, they were turning around the far end of the tunnel, so he could see the table with her equipment, the coiled cables, as well as the small turbaned man beside it all, who looked over his shoulder at their approach. 

“Doctor Miller? The agents you mentioned to me are here.” He voice was so soft there was no motion from the feet in the black sneakers protruding through the side of the tunnel. 

Without any sensation of the passage, Mulder was standing in front of the opening, studying the long legs he could just make out in the light from the control room. A hand extended through the opening. 

“Anwar, pass me a number one Phillips, if you would, please.” 

The tapered fingers were so much like his own, slighter perhaps, that Mulder could almost convince himself he was looking in a mirror. Again, without conscious awareness, he reached out, clasping the palm in his right hand, then pressing his left on top of it. 

“Ah!” Sandra was twisting to see who was there, but didn’t crouch enough to miss the edge of the opening. Both hands flew to her forehead as she looked up. “Fox? Is that you? Humpf!” She was upright now, a pair of long arms wrapped around her. The man holding her was shaking, whispering her name. “Fox?” She rested her head on his shoulder, then drew in a breath. He smelled like her brother, she realized, his clean, comforting scent mixed with perfumed hotel soap and slightly acrid aftershave. The chin and neck were rough against her cheek, not smooth, but there was no difference in the sense of security that settled over her. “Fox.” The word emerged as breath. She closed her arms around his back, hugging him as tightly as she could. “Fox.” There was wetness on her ear; she could feel him shaking as he sobbed. 

“Sammie.” He was surprised he managed to stammer her name. “Sammie. I can reach you.” 

There was a gasp from the woman standing beside them, bringing them both out of the tiny circle of two in their minds. “Dana?” Sandra asked. A quick glance told her the Pakistani’s mouth had formed into a tiny oval, so she hastened to explain. “Anwar, this is my biological brother, Fox William Mulder. He works with the FBI.” His hands were still on her waist, so she stepped back again, wrapping her fingers around his extended left palm as she nodded at the copper-haired agent. “This is his partner at the Bureau, Doctor Dana Scully. She’s a pathologist with a degree in physics.” 

The diminutive agent shook hands with the graduate student. “Our apologies for the intrusion. We had thought you would have been finished with the set-up so Doctor Miller could review a few documents we have brought along.” She tapped the strap of the laptop case. 

His eyes slightly unfocused at this turn of events, Anwar looked desperately to his adviser for guidance, then at Mulder, whose gaze never left his sister’s face. “Doctor Miller, this is a wonderful day. I am privileged to share it with you. Should I call the others to celebrate?” 

Scully patted the slight arm. “We should step into the control room, don’t you think?” 

Then, Mulder was alone with his sister. “You are so tall. Like me.” He bit his lip. “Sorry.” 

She eyed him. “For what? Fox, we both grew up. It was bound to happen, you know.” Holding the rough cheek, she smiled, before finding herself giggling unexpectedly. 

The dark-haired agent let out a choked sound as a pensive grin stretched his features. “Yeah. It was.” His forehead wrinkled. “I should say something more insightful than that.” 

She grasped his face in both hands, then tipped his head forward to plant a single kiss on his hairline. “Why? You know the three laws of robotics. What more do you need? “ 

He was laughing outright now, picking her up with the arms he entwined tightly around her waist again. “You remembered!” 

She stepped back. “You explained them so carefully to me. Too bad there are no real robots yet to try them on, you know?” 

Thinking of Doctor Ivanov, he grinned. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

She cocked her head at him. “Where did Dana go?” 

Mulder checked around, finally spotting his partner sitting alone behind a short table inside the glassed-in room. “Scully!” His bellow snapped her head up to focus on him. Taking Sandra’s hand, he walked into the control space. “Scully, this is my sister.” He nodded, still grinning. 

She exchanged tiny smiles with the professor, then, as her gaze met his gleaming eyes, she issued the gentlest of rebukes. “We’ve met.” She pushed castered chairs toward them both with her feet. “Mulder, sit down before you fall over. Sandra, thank you for your time. We didn’t mean to interrupt your work.” 

When they were settled, the chestnut-haired woman glanced at her brother’s profile. “It’s alright, Dana. We were on the verge of calling it quits anyway, since we will need a few more hours before we’re ready to start taking those data I mentioned.” She checked around the room. “Where’s Anwar?” 

Scully pointed toward the exit. “I don’t think he’ll be back tonight.” 

Sandra nodded. “Okay.” She grasped Mulder’s palm tightly. “Fox, I have to know. Those videos that old man showed me, are they fakes?” 

“No. They’re not.” The joy fell from his eyes. “Sorry. I wish I could tell you they were. I’m sorry.” 

Sandra pulled his hand onto her lap. “Were you ill? Drugged?” 

His shoulders slumped. “No.” 

“Why, Fox, why?” 

Scully walked around the table to stand in front of her. “Whatever you saw isn’t the man I have known and respected for six years, Sandra. Your brother has been there for me whenever I have needed him, helping me when I have been ill or injured. He’s been my ally when I have been attacked for being a woman in a man’s profession. That old man is a murderer and a liar.” 

Dropping the long fingers, Sandra rose. “So, he has no connection to Fox and me?” 

The auburn-haired agent moved to stand by her partner. “It’s not as he made it out to be to you.” She placed a gentle hand on a slumped shoulder. “That man has been twisting your natal family, the Mulders, to serve his ends, even before you two were born. He is a murderer and the slickest of monsters.” She could feel his back straightening. “Part of why we wanted to speak with you was to give you the knowledge you need to see the lies in what he insinuated. This man was an operative for a clandestine group that came into being at the end of the Second World War. He knows how to spew propaganda, which is what he’s doing with you, Sandra. Mulder and I have worked most of our partnership to expose this Shadow government. The collective evidence on my laptop has allowed us to begin to do that. We have insider information that this old man has taken over the organization in this country. Do not underestimate him. We certainly don’t. He has ordered the deaths of countless innocents, put others through endless torture.” 

“Including you, Scully.” Mulder’s hazel gaze was fixed on his partner now. 

She sent him what courage she could with her green-blue eyes before turning back to Sandra. “For reasons we haven’t fully discovered, they are afraid of you and Mulder making a lasting, meaningful connection. It may help us if you tell us of your memories of your time with the Mulders.” 

Sandra twisted her curls around her palm, then flipped them free. “There aren’t many. A black Lab. Walking to school.” Her too-heavy eyebrows drew together. “Not wanting Fox to open the door.” She was whispering. “They’re out there. Don’t let them in.” 

After glancing up at his partner, Mulder reached out to grasp both his sister’s hands. “That was when they took you, Sammie. I couldn’t stop them. I tried to get Dad’s gun, but I couldn’t stop them. I remembered it for years as aliens, but that wasn’t what it was. I made it that. To make it make some sense.” He fell to his knees in front of her, sobbing. “Sammie, please, forgive me, please. I couldn’t stop them. There were too many.” 

Coming back to the present, Sandra blinked at him. “But were those videos lies?” 

He was shaking. “No. Those men. They were hurting people. They hurt -” 

“Me.” Dana Scully went rigid. “Duane Barry was a former FBI agent who had been suffered severe brain trauma, but recovered. He had taken several people hostage, and Mulder was brought on to try to talk him out. When that failed, the assault team went in. Barry was injured, but broke out of the hospital and attacked me in my own home. We fought, then he knocked me unconscious. When I came to, I was tied up and gagged in the trunk of his car. He drove me to Skyland Mountain and handed me over to kidnappers. Mulder tried to get to me, but-” 

The tall agent found his feet. “I couldn’t reach Scully in time. She was gone for three months. Benner was trying to poison Scully in Athens Hospital. He worked for the same group, we think.” 

The diminutive agent took a step toward Sandra. “This time, I fought him off. After Barry, I never wanted to be that helpless again.” 

The chestnut-haired professor shoved the chair away before backing against the glass. “I don’t know who you people are. I’ve never heard or experienced anything like this.” The hazel gaze was steel. “But, I’ve never seen anyone treated the way you treated those two men, Fox. There is right and there is wrong.” She moved forward until she was nose-to-nose with her brother. “I’ll ask you one last time, are the videos a lie?” 

He took a step away from her. “No.” 

She pointed at the door. “Then please, leave. I don’t know if I will ever want to speak to you again after what you did.” 

He began shaking and gasping. “Sammie, no!” 

She just glared at him. “Fox, I don’t know how you went from being my crazy, sweet brother to what I saw on the videos, and I don’t want to know. If that is what fighting this group has turned you into, you’ve become just as much of a monster as you tell me they are.” 

He was staggering now, but Sandra turned to the diminutive agent. “Dana, I know you say he’s not like that, but, think. Has he ever been violent with you?” 

Scully, remembering a time of anger, horror, and cold in his apartment, stepped between brother and sister. “Once, Sandra, once only, in a moment of extreme fatigue. Never otherwise. He is my partner. I trust him with my life.” 

The professor shook her head. “Your trust may be misplaced, Dana. Please, I need some time to work through all this.” She held up both hands. “Please.” 

Scully tucked the laptop strap over her shoulder, then took her partner’s elbow. “Sandra, you’re making a giant mistake, here. Do not trust that old man, or anything he says, ever. Do you hear me?” Her voice was stern, but soft.

She turned her back to them. “I do. I won’t. But, I’m not sure whom I *can* trust. Please, go.”

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter V - Dance of the Dead


	6. Living in Harmony

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter VI – Living in Harmony 

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

The ex-Sheriff is thrown into the saloon to land at the feet of the Judge. 

Judge: (bangs whiskey glass on table) Let justice be done! 

A jury assembles as the ex-Sheriff stands and frees himself of the ropes used to drag him   
back into town. 

Judge: (picks up gavel, bangs twice) Order! Order! Court is in session!  
Ex-Sheriff: Charge?   
Judge: Against you, none. You were only held in protective custody. You’re free to go.  
Silently, the ex-Sheriff turns slowly to leave.   
Judge: The People of Harmony against Katherine Johnson! Will the accused step forward?   
You are accused of aiding a prisoner to escape. How do you plead?   
Katherine says nothing.   
Towns-member: Judge, you just said he weren’t a criminal. He was bein’ held in protective custody.   
Judge: She didn’t know that.   
Towns-member silently steps back.   
Judge: How do you plead?   
Katherine again says nothing. 

Cut to the town square. 

The townspeople wait inside the saloon. As the judge checks his watch, the jury files back in.

Judge: Have you reached a verdict?   
Foreman: We have, Your Honor.  
Judge: Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?   
Foreman: Guilty.  
Judge: We’ll pass sentence later. Take her away. 

Katherine is led off. The Judge joins the ex-Sheriff, who has just asked the bartender for a whiskey. 

Judge: When you work for me, I’ll let her go.   
Ex-Sheriff: You’re a bad judge.   
Judge: We’ll see. We’ll see. 

The Kid, who had been waiting by the horse trough, walks into the Saloon, places his tophat   
on the bar, then wordlessly slides his second gun over to the ex-Sheriff, who is still drinking   
his whiskey. The ex-Sheriff ignores it, eventually looking at the Kid. The Kid repeatedly tries   
to force a shootout on the ex-Sheriff, finally grazing the ex-Sheriff’s face and hand. 

Judge: (enters, stopping the Kid) Hold it! I’ve been looking for you, Kid. I’ve decided to   
offer you your old job back. Go and take care of the jail.   
Ex-Sheriff: (slides the second gun back to the Kid) It takes two of these to take care of a woman. 

The Kid tries to shoot the ex-Sheriff, but the Judge blocks him. 

Judge: There’s always another time. 

The Kid takes up his gun and hat and leaves. 

Judge: The Kid’s real fond of Kathy, but he does tend to get over-affectionate.  
Ex-Sheriff: If anything happens, it will be paid for.   
Judge: Nothing would happen if you were Sheriff. 

Living in Harmony

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Fluid Dynamics Lab  
Scripps Institute of Oceanography  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday, June 19, 1998, 7:51 pm

Guided by his partner’s hands, Mulder staggered out, back the way they had come. He could barely see, or hear, or think. Putting one foot in front of the other took all the mental energy he had. Without remembering passing outside, they were by the Taurus, she shielding his head as he fell into the passenger seat as if he were a handcuffed suspect. He numbly watched her buckle him in, close the door, then climb behind the wheel. His gaze shifted to the brick wall of Sandra’s laboratory as a man in a turban, with several others he vaguely recognized as graduate students, approached the Taurus. Scully was speaking to them, something about a celebration, about offering support to someone, but he paid no attention to the words. He heard the sadness in her tone; knew the little group was dispersing, to where, he remained unconcerned. It was as if he were at the bottom of a hole, the dirt pouring in on top of him, but he cared not that he only had to stand to reach the top, to crawl out. He felt nothing as she turned the key, then they drove away.

\--o-0-o--

roof of Northern Trust Tower  
along La Jolla Village Drive  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:09 pm

Luther spoke into the headset, which was resting snug against his cheek. “Okay, I see them coming. The blinker is on. They’re turning in here. Your code got that right.” 

‘Ace’’s voice was soft in his ear. “Okay. They didn’t even slow down at my location, so it’s your show. There’s a 75% probability they’ll pull into the Bank of America parking lot, so you’ll have a clear shot of the passenger seat. Take it when you can.”

Since the long summer day was falling into twilight, the balding operative rotated his IR goggles in his headset to view through them. “She’s driving.” 

“There was a 40% probability of that. You’ll have to try to get them out of the car with the strobe. Mulder won’t be able to resist checking it out.” 

Without raising the protruding lenses, he lifted the lamp out of his backpack to rest it on the gravel next to him. “She’s coming.” He swiveled the silencer onto the barrel. “No, she’s turning left into the parking garage. I’ve lost the shot.” 

“Then get down to the upper balcony. They’re 80% likely to drive to one of the upper floors where they can minimize the risk of attack by an assailant on foot while they converse, so you should be able to target them from there. You’ll be in the dark where you are, and they’ll be in light, so you should have a clear aim. Get moving! Now!” 

His rifle tucked under his arm, Luther scrambled to the roof access. “How do I get onto the balcony without setting off alarms?” 

A few clicks, then, he heard, “The main power control for the alarm system is right there as you leave the roof. The owners thought they were being clever by putting it where it was hardest to get to from the ground.” 

“But, what about a guard?”

A soft snort of derision entered his ear. “That’s what made this building so perfect. The tenants went penny-wise, deciding they could cheap out by depending only on electronic surveillance. I’ve long since tapped the secure network back to the company they use when we decided to try this, so I can induce a fake all-clear to cover you when you take out the alarm system. They weren’t expecting anyone could stick a landing on that big 15 on the roof the way you did when you parachuted in.” 

“The old man’s military exercises were good for that, at least.” He chuckled as he peered in through the smoked glass in the door. “Yeah, I see it.” He placed the tip of the silencer against the keyhole in the deadbolt, then pulled the trigger. The cylinder in the interior knob had exploded in fragments that crunched under his boots as he entered. He repeated his actions with the padlock on the steel wall-mounted box for the alarm controls, shredding one arm of the shackle. A flick of the barrel, then the body of the lock fell to the concrete. A tap on the main toggle sent the lights on the panel dark. “I’m in. I’m headed down.” As he descended, he thought briefly about the evidence he was leaving behind in the flattened rounds, but he was out of time to retrieve them. Nor would it, he realized, matter. If all went well, there would be bullets left in the flesh of a certain agent, but, without his weapon, nothing could be tied back to him or the Organization.

\--o-0-o--

along La Jolla Village Drive  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:11 pm

Dana Scully was driving, gripping and releasing the steering wheel. She hit her fifth speed dial button before holding the cell to her ear. “Sir? It’s Agent Scully. We just left Sandra Miller’s lab, and we have information we need to follow up on. We will try to make it in by ten, but this may take a few hours longer. Donato and Gonzales can handle the investigation on their own. They’re the most up to speed of the SDPD officers on Luther. Okay.” A tight, unseen, smile stretched her lips. “We will report in as soon as possible.” 

The shout of anxiety that hovered behind the professional speech reached the dark-haired man, straightening him from his crouch. _She’s treating me like a suspect! She thinks I’m nuts!_

“Mulder?” She reached over to grasp, then release, his hand. “Mulder, talk to me.” 

He just stared at her. _She’s always thought I’m irrational, unstable. Sandra does too. They all do._

Once they were waiting at a light, she shifted to face him. Behind the hazel, she could see a hollow darkness threatening to swallow him whole. She attempted to throw him one of her usual lifelines. “Mulder, tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“What do you care what I think, Agent Scully. I’m a monster. Didn’t you hear?” He glared as he crossed his arms. “I beat up people because it’s fun.” 

She sighed. She, too, was stunned at Sandra’s request, but her partner had simply folded in on himself, adrift between his imaginings of this long-awaited reunion and its reality. If it had been just themselves, back in DC, she would have taken him to her apartment to give him the space and quiet to rage and weep and ruminate. But, they were in the middle of at least three intertwined investigations, involving multiple law enforcement agencies, where his ability to cut a clear path through the confusion was essential. If not reason, then, a re-direction might help pull him out. “Mulder, you and I are in the same boat now, you know.” 

Without turning his head, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Nice try, Scully, but not going to work.” 

A mall, full of people on a Friday night, was on their right. What they needed now was a little seclusion so he could settle. To their left, tucked behind two tall buildings, was a nearly empty parking lot. The insurance offices and financial companies it serviced were all closed, so she could focus completely as they spoke. She turned the steering wheel to take them into the darkness, looked to her right, but rejected the few spaces in the above-ground lot as too exposed, as well as the underground parking for the Bank of America she saw there. With one entrance and exit, the confined levels offered security, but only a limited avenue of escape. If they were being surveilled, an attacker would have an easy place to wait. Ahead was a multi-story above-ground parking garage, requiring automated payment for entry. If they wanted privacy and security, this open, yet restricted elevation would provide it, so she steered the Taurus into it. She pulled to the gate where she inserted her credit card. 

“That’s Agent Scully, always honest, to a fault, you are.” He snorted. “Nevermind that you’ve just broadcast our location to anyone tracking us.”

When she looked over, he had resumed his straight-ahead stare. He had rarely spoken to her with that sneer in his voice, at least, once they were past the first few days of their partnership. _Oh, Mulder. Not everyone in the world is your enemy._ She drove to the third level, noted it was completely empty, so chose a spot to the right of the exit, but well back from the perimeter of the structure. Once the rumble of the engine had ceased, she turned to him. “Mulder, you knew this was going to be hard, even if we didn’t have the Smoker trying to warp her mind. Don’t let him win. You *know* what he’s trying to do to you and Sandra here.” 

“Very good, Agent Scully. Tie the floundering nut-case to reality.” He had neither moved nor shifted as he mocked her. It was as if someone else, altogether, had spoken those words. 

She reached out for him, but he batted her hand away before he pushed the door open. “Mulder!” She was outside quicker, running around to him as he stalked away. “Mulder, listen to me!” 

He spun. “Or what, Doctor Scully? You wing the raging beast, take him away to safety, put him on a soft cushion, nurse him back to health, and tame him?” He bared his teeth. “But the creature always bites in the end.”

\--o-0-o--

Third Floor Balcony  
Northern Trust Tower  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday, 8:17 pm

Luther shoved his way through the unlocked glass door to set his sights on the lone Taurus. “Okay, they’re parked on the third level, right by the exit. ‘Ace’, whatever it is you programmed, it has these two, almost exactly.” 

“Yes. Bayesian theory is good on repetitive behavior, bad on random probability, even though that’s how it’s being used. Why haven’t you taken the shot?” 

He flipped up the IR lenses to check through his daylight goggles. “The passenger side of the vehicle is toward me. I can’t try to get her and not hit him. Wait, he’s getting out of the car. Now, so is she. He’s yelling. She’s shouting right back. He looks like he’s gonna slug her. I thought these two were the ideal for partners at the Bureau.” 

“They are. They were, anyway. Don’t get distracted. They’re targets, not people.” 

“Okay, her back is to me.” 

“Take the shot!” 

“Ah, no. They’re in each other’s faces. She’s not clear of him.”

“Stay focused. You won’t have much of a window.”

\--o-0-o--

Parking Garage  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:21 pm

Scully planted herself between her partner and the exit, forcing him backward toward the Ford. “Luther is out there. He’s already killed one officer. Do you think he wouldn’t try to take you out, too?” 

He bent over her. “Me? The monster? Wouldn’t he be doing the world a favor?” He held out his hand. “Give me the keys, Scully.” 

She pushed her fists against her hips. “Mulder, you need to -” 

He shoved her shoulder. “Give me the keys, Scully!” 

“No!” She reached for his elbow. “Mulder, I know you want to run, but we can’t afford the indulgence. At least, take me with-” 

He grasped her wrist, spinning her around as he twisted her arm behind her back, the motion pulling her shoulders against his chest. “Take you with me? Into darkness where not even your cool light reaches? Not this time. I’m not a centaur, Pallas. They’re the one thing I can’t believe ever existed.” One long arm, tucked up under her chin, was painfully tight against her neck. “Give me the keys or I will take them.” 

“No.” She struggled against the muscles pressing against her throat. “I *need* to come with you. You won’t be safe.” 

He released her twisted arm to yank her jacket open, a button popping away to bounce across the concrete as his fingers burrowed into her right pocket. Pushing up against her throat, he pulled her slightly off her feet to stop her twisting in his grip. He felt in the small compartment at the waistband of her linen slacks, then ripped the ring free, shredding the cloth in the process. “Monsters don’t need protection.” The hiss was harsh in her ear before he shoved her away from him.

\--o-0-o--

Third Floor Balcony  
Northern Trust Tower  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:27 pm

Luther tried sighting though the scope on his rifle. “He’s got her in a choke hold now. What’s going on with these two?” 

“Who cares. Do you have a shot?” 

“No, there’s too much foliage. Now he’s tearing at her clothes. Oh, he’s after the car keys. He just shoved her onto the ground. I don’t get what he’s thinking, ‘Ace’.” 

“He’s not. That’s always been Spooky Mulder’s problem. He doesn’t like to plan ahead. I learned that about him down at Quantico. She’s the one who does that. Anything?” 

“No. Yes! No. She’s holding on to the door handle, and he’s trying to throw her. If he tries too hard, he may run her over.” 

“Saves us the trouble. Take the shot when you can. Don’t leave this to chance.”

\--o-0-o--

Parking Garage  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:31 pm

Mulder’s push threw Scully onto the pavement, then he stalked around the Taurus without looking back at his partner. 

Scrambling to her feet, she rushed to the vehicle as he was turning over the engine. She had pulled the passenger door open, but with a snarl, he threw the Ford in reverse while shoving the gas pedal down to the carpet. The door swung, momentum bouncing her off the front fender. “Mulder!” She refused to release the handle, even as he was spinning the wheel to the right, keeping her grip as she was sliding away from the car. “Mulder, stop!” She twisted to bring herself to her knees, ignoring the jolts as they skidded across the pavement, then to her feet. 

He glared over. “Don’t tell me what to do, Scully!” He began accelerating forward, trying to force her to detach from the handle. But, she was was running alongside. Suddenly understanding what she was attempting, he found himself now drowning in horror and rage. “Let go, Scully!” 

“No, Mulder!” The brakes whined as the Taurus halted before it slammed into the exterior wall, so she threw herself inside, feet first, but she was clutching the edge of the roof with her right hand only. As he gained speed through the left turn in reverse, she began slipping, inertia carrying her back out the opening. “Mulder, stop.” She was gasping, her left arm flailing wildly. 

He hesitated at the edge of desperation in her voice, then jammed down on the brakes, driving the door to close on her hand. “Scully?” A crack, then fragments of glass shot through the cabin.

\--o-0-o--

Third Floor Balcony  
Northern Trust Tower  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:27 pm

“Luther? I heard a shot.” 

He hooted from his crouch. “Got her! I think. The window is all fractured, but he’s pulled her inside, so I don’t know if she’s dead.” 

“Then, get out. Get over to the Mall, wipe down the weapon before you ditch it in their trash compactor, then turn the compactor on. We only need to warp the barrel enough that they can’t get a match on the rifling. Mingle on the walk in your street clothes. I’ll swing by to pick you up at the front entrance in a few minutes.” 

“No! I need to get the strobe. My fingerprints may still be on it from when I packed it.”

“Hurry, then. I’ll be on my way. The police station is only three blocks away, so, get a move on.” 

“Right.” He tugged at the glass doors with his gloved hands. If the surveillance cameras had caught anything during his descent in the stairwell it would only have been his mask-covered face and black clothes. He should be able to escape undetected.

\--o-0-o--

Parking Garage  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday 8:27 pm

“Mulder? Help. Please.” 

The quiet plea drained the last of his anger. He checked to his right. The shattered glass of the window collapsed onto the seat and the carpet as he watched. His partner was hanging from the roof by her right arm, the left limp on the seat, a puddle of red spreading over the plastic. He set the car in park to guide her in with both hands, then threw himself on top of her as he pulled the door closed. “Scully? Stay down. Talk to me. Scully? Do you hear me?” 

“Mulder? I’m okay.” Her words were muffled against his stomach, but he could feel her shaking, hear her gasping beneath him. 

The rage gone, all he could sense was the cold of his terrifying near-loss. _Not that. Not now._

“Oh. Ow.” 

_Good. I know where we stand._ He rolled off her. “I’m gonna get us out of here. Just stay down.” 

“Okay.” She was coiling, trying to sit up.

“Stay low, Scully.” He began turning the Taurus toward the exit, checking quickly over the dash as the car moved. But, he had his right arm wrapped tightly around his partner, trying to cover her as much as possible with his torso.

The auburn-haired pathologist had worked her cell phone out of her jacket pocket to tap the fifth speed dial button. “Sir? This is Agent Scully again.” She pushed against her partner’s hold to peer carefully out the rear windshield, just catching view of the small sign in front of the building where the shooter was likely concealed. 

Mulder had the Ford gunned for the ramp. 

Her teeth were clenched as she shouted over the engine noise. “Get some forces out to La Jolla Village Drive and Executive Way. Someone just took a shot at us, Sir, probably from the Northern Trust Tower across from the Mall. We might be able to pull Luther in yet.” She checked her partner, who was beginning to sit up straight. “Yes, Sir, I’m fine. Nothing serious. Agent Mulder is uninjured. Okay. Yes, Sir.” She terminated the call, dropping her phone on the floor as she tried to right herself on the seat. “This is just three blocks from the Northern Division, so they should have the area covered shortly.”

He offered no response, needing both hands and all his focus to squeal the Taurus down the spiral ramp to the exit. 

She wriggled her right arm out of the jacket, worked the fabric from behind her back, then tied the right sleeve into a tourniquet on her left shoulder.

Once they were out of the parking garage, sitting at the exit to Executive Way, trees blocked the line of sight with the Tower. Mulder reached over to rest his right hand on the back of his partner’s neck. He was suddenly unwilling to lose the contact that was his only assurance she was still on the seat beside him. “Scully? Talk to me.” 

“It’s not bad. It’s not bad.” She was whispering through gritted teeth.

He looked over. There was blood soaking through her shredded left sleeve from her shoulder to her wrist, dripping from her fingers onto her thigh. In gathering horror, he realized the round and her arm had, in the instant of contact, met at just the right angle to rend sinew and muscle as the steel burrowed through the flesh along the entire limb. _My fault. All my fault._ He found he could offer no words of comfort, only speak without emotion, without sympathy. “Scripps Hospital is just up the street from us. We’ve passed it going to and from the Northern Division.” 

She shook her head. “Take me back to the hotel. It’ll only require some bandaging.” She focused her green-blue gaze on his face. “I may need some help with that.” 

He bit his lower lip for a moment, concentrating on making a right turn with only his left hand. “Of course, Scully. Of course.” Once they were stopped at the light onto La Jolla Village Drive, he reached across her to buckle her in place. “Why didn’t you just let me go?” He hovered over he shoulder even after he heard the click. 

She offered a twitch of her cheek. “Centaurs might not need protection, but FBI agents do.” 

He cocked an eyebrow as sirens were wailing from several directions. 

She was twisting on the plastic. “Ah. No. Not this.” She shuddered. “No people.”

He checked her arm again. “You sure about that hospital, Scully?” 

She tried to send him a full smile, but could only form a grimace. “Yes. I’ve seen enough of those for a long, long while.”

Mulder’s cell buzzed, so he released her to lift the phone to his ear. “Sir?” He checked his partner. “Yes, Sir.” After terminating the call, he turned left onto Town Center Drive. 

She eyed him as he accelerated. “Mulder, that’s not the way back to the hotel.” 

His lips were set in a grim line. “Dad’s orders. He knows what ‘I’m fine’ means just like the rest of us do. Don’t argue.”

\--o-0-o--

Westminster Palace  
London, UK  
Saturday, June 20, 1998  
12:13 am

Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn stood before a dark oak door. Brother Pict had been in a hospital in Edinburgh recovering from a respiratory infection, so this had been their first opportunity to discuss the matters of the Ekklesia. The death of the Riata had been particularly difficult for the Pict, even though all knew it had been coming, that her life had been full of the richness of kindness. He had knocked twice. Finally, there was a creak, then a nod. 

“We are many, we are one, Honored Brother. Come, come.” The Pict led the way back to his inner office. The two would be alone for this conversation, which was as it should be. 

The Cymru settled in the deep leather seat. “We are many, we are one. Dearest Brother, surely, these austere quarters are uncomfortable for you for so many hours.” 

Two long hands clenched the Celtic lion. “Not at all. I am only at peace either here or at the Suola. Only in either place do I still feel her presence.” He tapped the tip of the cane twice on the thick carpet. “The Danaan has informed me the Slav has agreed to be initiated at the end of the coming week.” He favored the younger man with a gentle smile of relief. “The Fellowship will almost be complete. Please, tell me you have good news as well.” 

Wondering, not for the final time, what had been between the Riata and the Pict in their springtime, ap Gwinn pushed his red curls off his forehead. “I have seen her, in the flesh. Here. Look.” He laid the flier on the desk. 

The Pict studied the black and white image for several moments, then the pale green eyes closed. “I have lived to see this day. It is she.” He settled back in his tall seat. “Tell me of her.” 

The Cymru took a deep breath. “She is small, Brother.” 

“But great.” The grey head inclined once. “A leader?” 

“Indeed. Her fellow officers hailed her, many times. But, it was most telling that she knew me, recognized me for who I am.” 

“And the son of our fallen Atrebates? What signs?” The Pict leaned forward eagerly. 

“First, he is an Atrebates himself. There was no question of his adamant devotion.” 

“Ah, well.” He gave himself a push upright on the Lion. “So, have you spoken with her? Seen if she is of a mind to join us?” He stood over the Cymru. “Have you, Brother?” 

“There was not the time. There were too many about. I have arranged to speak with her in private on my return to Washington. Then, we shall know.” 

The Pict returned slowly to his seat. “We have some light in dark times.” 

Ap Gwinn stood. “Dark times? What?” 

“Our Brother Suebi has brought a viper into the Ekklesia, although he does not know it yet.” 

Now, the younger man moved forward. “This was his failed candidate?” 

“Indeed.” The lion was propped against the edge of the desk. “He has made him one of the Tribuni Plebis, since he could not be a Brother. We will need to bring the Riata into our Fellowship over his active resistance, I fear. With her skills, she could take him down easily, I am certain. But all must be precisely done, or we will be lost. We cannot be lost.” 

The Cymru extended his hand. “Come, Honored Brother and Faithful Guide, back to my residence in Belgravia. It’s not far. You can have a long, hot bath, a nourishing late supper, and a good sleep on one of my overstuffed mattresses. Then we shall plan. Alright?” 

The older man mustered a tired smile. “As you wish. You favor me with your kindness, Brother. We are many, we are One.” 

“We are many, we are One.” The Cymru held the door for the Pict, then led him down to his waiting Rolls. They would be at his townhouse in less than a quarter of an hour.

\--o-0-o--

Scripps Memorial Hospital  
Outpatient Care  
Friday, 9:14 pm

Walter Skinner turned into the small room the receiving nurse, without looking up, had waved him toward. His diminutive agent, still in her bloodied trousers, was slumped in a chair. Her clothes looked like she had been dragged through a shredder. The pants were ripped open at the waistband, with vertical tears that exposed her bruised knees. Her jacket, torn down the left arm, was draped loosely across her lap. Her left arm was bandaged from over the shoulder down to her fingers, all suspended in a sling. But, she was alone, her head resting on the wall behind her, apparently asleep. “Agent Scully?” He stepped forward. 

She jerked, then opened her eyes. “Sir?” 

He gritted his teeth. “Where is your partner?” 

One cheek twitched. “I made the mistake of hinting I was thirsty, Sir.” 

Skinner felt the rush of air to his right. 

“Scully, this is the best I could do.” The dark-haired man was carrying a pitcher and a plastic cup. “They’re pretty short-handed tonight. Friday.” He poured until the water was halfway to the top, then held it out for her to take. “Room temperature. Sorry.” When her fingers grasped the bottom carefully, without contacting his, he let out a grunt.

After a teasing cluck, she drained the contents. “That’s good.” She handed her partner the cup. “Thank you, Mulder.” 

He held up the pitcher, but she shook her head, so he set both on a nearby rolling stand. Only then did the tall agent turn his attention to the bald Director. “Sir?” 

Skinner looked from one to the other. “We have him, Agents. He was trying to take the stairs from the top floor of the Northern Trust Tower, just as you said. He’s at Northern Division so we can question him before we have to hand him over to Pierce. Johnson isn’t placing the call to the Marshals until we’re satisfied.”

The auburn-haired pathologist stood before beginning to tuck the torn and bloodied jacket inside the sling, but, her partner’s hands were there faster, turning the shredded fabric into a roll he squeezed between his side and his elbow. She sent him a tiny smile of gratitude before she turned to their superior. “I’m ready, Sir. We three know him and the Smoker, so they can’t pull any games or tricks to weasel out of this.” 

“Scully, you need the antibiotics, remember?” The tall agent was gazing down at her somberly, blocking her exit. 

The bald Director’s jaw set. There was more going on here than they had told him, but that was far from unusual. “Agents?” 

The Section Heads turned to him. “Sir?” The auburn-haired pathologist was gazing upward.

He decided a direct question was the best approach. “Agent Scully, tell me, how did you happen to be in that parking garage?” 

She glanced up at her partner before answering cautiously. “Agent Mulder and I were discussing his sister, Sir. We had stopped by her laboratory to present some of our accumulated evidence to her so she could understand more of her past life.” Another upward check, this time, meeting his downward one, before she turned to continue. “She had difficulty with what we were presenting her. We were considering options for how to proceed, and we wanted to do so without interruption.” 

As Skinner watched, the tall man’s shoulders slumped, then his hand reached around to Scully’s back. When Mulder’s fingers contacted her spine, she flinched, then shifted forward slightly, out of contact with his long fingers. A strangled sound escaped from his dark-haired agent. 

Mulder dropped his arm to bend over her. “Scully?” 

The Director was surprised to realize there was an edge of naked terror in the younger man’s hesitant invocation of his partner. 

The auburn-haired pathologist twisted carefully to face him. “Sorry. Bruises.” Her gaze dropped to the white tiles on the floor.

Mulder bit his lower lip, but said nothing.

The Assistant Director’s dark eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Whatever was prompting this exchange, he had to trust his agents to work matters out themselves. He chose discretion, rather than further probing. “That’s not unexpected for siblings separated as children who reunite as adults, Agent Scully. Perhaps a Bureau counselor could offer guidance for you.” 

She nodded. “That might be wise, Sir. Thank you.” 

The entrance of the night nurse, medication at the ready, terminated the conversation between the three.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 10:03 pm

Richard Gonzales placed a tall coffee in a green and white paper cup in front of his partner. Jerry Donato was returning the hand-set to the receiver as he released a sigh. 

The Hispanic detective cocked his head sympathetically. “No luck with the Professor, old man?” 

The thick-chested detective began idly spinning one of his yellow pencils. “No, none. She’s not answering, either at her place, her office, or the wind facility.” 

When the double doors swung wide, Gonzales glanced over. “Maybe we’ll get some answers, now, Jerry. Man, she looks bad. I wonder what happened?” 

Donato followed his gaze. “What the?” He worked his way around the intervening desks to stand by the FBI partners. “Agent Scully? Are you sure you should be here?” 

The auburn-haired pathologist pushed her unbound shoulder erect. The same motion under the gauze had her blanching, but, her chin had set firmly. “I will be fine, Detective Donato. Director Skinner had to place a call back to DC. He’ll be in shortly.” She checked around the room. “Now, where is Luther?” 

“Scully.” The dark-haired agent bent over her. They locked eyes, hers too-sharply focused, his now gentle with sorrow and sympathy, then, he nodded. “Okay. We’ll take breaks when you need them.” He looked down at the Senior Detective. “Where is he?” 

Jerry pointed toward a side corridor. “He’s in Number Two.” He looked up as they walked. “The observation room will be packed, so mind what you say. He already has an attorney.” 

Mulder snorted. “From the firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and Whittington?” 

Donato shrugged. “Who else? Those guys seem to be everywhere.” Stopping, he reached for the knob of a half-glassed door. “This is it.” 

When the three entered, Luther raised his head, letting out a hoot, then tried to stand. “I *did* get you, lady. Got you good.” 

The tall agent was around the table to spin Luther’s chair a quarter turn before his partner could restrain him. “Don’t. Say. Anything. Without. Your. Attorney. Present. Just. Don’t.” His teeth were gritted, mere millimeters from the balding man’s nose. 

“Mulder!” Scully placed her hand on his shoulder, then jerked her head toward the one-way mirror. 

He backed down to start prowling the wall opposite the glass as she and Donato took seats across from their collar. 

The balding operative was exultant. “Yeah. Now we know who wears the pants!” He leaned as far toward the dark-haired man as the shackles would allow. “Of course, you were working hard on getting them off her.” 

“Mister Luther.” In a near-tenor would have frozen Mission Bay, Scully began the questioning. “Why were you on the balcony of the closed Northern Trust Tower tonight?” 

He sent out a barking laugh. “I had some stocks I inherited from my Aunt Sylvia, and my broker was meeting me to let me know what they were worth.” He arched both eyebrows. “He didn’t hang around when he heard the sirens. His boss doesn’t like moonlighting.” 

The half-glassed barrier swung aside. “Agents, I’m Charles William Whittington the Third, and I represent Mister Luther.” The tapered fingers grasped the balding operative’s shoulder. “You suggested his attorney be present, so, here I am.” He turned to the thick-chested man. “Most pleasant to see you again, Detective Donato. I trust you and Professor Miller are doing well?” After an over-the-shoulder glance at the glass, he eyed the agents. “So, my client has been held without charge for several hours now. Agent Mulder just read him his rights, rather badly, I should say. Would you be willing to, finally, offer charges?” He blinked innocuously, then waited. 

Mulder circled around behind Whittington, forcing him to turn. “You want charges, you slimy bastard, how about assaulting a federal officer with a deadly weapon? He just confessed.” 

A long, practiced, sigh was unleashed. “Yes, Agent Mulder. But, as I have already noted, my client had not been read his rights, nor was his attorney present during this so-called confession. We’ll not take up more than a few minutes of a court’s time getting a dismissal, especially of a white suspect.” He addressed the shackles with a florid wave of his hand. “So, if you would, please. Then we can all be on our way.” 

The half-glass door was shoved open until it slapped against the wall. Walter Skinner strode into the confined space, his fingers curled into fists. “Oh, we can do better than that.” He glared at the one-way mirror. “We’re placing three charges for resisting arrest, one federal, one state, and one local. We had law enforcement agents from all three levels of jurisdiction present when Mister Luther tried to break free in the stairwell.” His dark eyes narrowed at Whittington. “We had already read him his rights then, even if you weren’t there. If ballistics tells us the bullet removed from Agent Mulder’s rental matches those test-fired from the rifle we took out of Mister Luther’s possession, we can add charges of assaulting a federal officer to the rest. The residue on his gloves tells us he fired that weapon himself.” He set his teeth. “Good enough?” The bald Director turned to two waiting uniforms. “Take him to Holding. We’re through here.” Once Luther was out the door, Skinner spun on his heel, leaving the agents alone with Donato. 

Scully sent a small twitch of her cheek toward her partner, who had settled into the seat the balding operative had just vacated. “Let’s say we catch up on the Alice Franklin interviews, shall we?” 

He studied her face for a moment. “Some non-histrionic police work does sound good.” 

The black-haired detective pushed his chair back. “Okay. Rich should have the materials from the previous shift by now.”

\--o-0-o--

San Diego International Airport / Whisperhill Laboratories  
San Diego, CA / Beltsville, MD  
Friday, June 19, 1998 / Saturday, June 20, 1998  
11:41 pm / 2:41 am

After unclipping the tan phone from the internal land line, ‘Ace’ inserted one connector of her own cable into the port on the wall, then the other into the phone jack on her laptop. A second set of connections linked the computer and the base. A few clicks, then she lifted her cell to her ear. “How does it look at your end, Sir? All set?” 

“All set, My Dear. Speak with you in a few moments.” 

Handsets were lifted on both coasts. “Okay, we’re encrypted. How many bars at your end?”

‘Charlie’ held up eight fingers, slowly raising the remaining curled ring and minimus digits. 

“We are locked.” A grimace worked its way across the old spy’s face. “So, when will Mister Luther be with you?” 

‘Ace’ huffed. “As soon as Whittington finishes with him. Pierce has been alerted to his presence, so I have a plan to grab him from the Marshal’s holding cell.” 

An age-spotted hand rose. “As much as I trust your magnificent software, Amanda, no further information is necessary, especially after your exquisitely detailed encrypted communique. You have done exceptionally well.” 

She frowned at the blinking rectangles on her screen. _That’s not what I expected._ “Sir?” 

A dark chortle emerged from the lined throat. “You thought I would be displeased at your taking of the initiative? Not at all. You are learning to work within the limitations of operational necessity. I know this was not your first choice for a plan, but the effort is proceeding splendidly. You have removed an unreliable operative and set enmity between the Bureau and the Marshals. Distrust has been sown between brother and sister. Caroline’s son feels more isolated than he has in several years, which is exactly when he will engage in some foolishness that will discredit him and his pursuit of us. As a bonus, the co-leaders of the X-Files, Mulder and Scully, have been discomfited.” 

‘Charlie’ let out a gasp. 

The Smoker turned to him. “Yes, my young protegee. They will need to spend time rebuilding their ‘unique’ partnership, and that is when we can advance undetected.” 

‘Ace’’s nose was nearly on the screen. “There’s a problem here. I think we’re being hacked. I’m disconnecting now. Sir, you should, too.” 

“Very well. You will sort it out shortly. Your Consort sends his best.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Friday, 11:47 pm

Dana Scully pushed herself to her feet before circling the table to reach the pile of Alice Franklin’s phone records that had been seized from the residence. She shifted the folder to a clear patch of tabletop beside the nest of documents around Jerry Donato, flipped it open, then bent over the pages inside. She bobbed up and down until the text swam into focus. Her reading glasses had been broken as her backpack and laptop case had been tossed back and forth in the Taurus’s trunk during the angry interchanges, then wild descent, in the parking lot. 

The thick-chested man’s hand was on her unbound shoulder. “Agent Scully, I could have passed you those. You only had to ask.” 

Her green-blue eyes focused on his concern. “That’s alright, Detective. I was getting stiff. I needed to move around for a bit.” She went back to studying the lists of numbers. “Hum.” 

Alert to the flat fatigue in her tone, the dark-haired agent looked up from his search running on her laptop. Although her shoulders were hunched, she was focused, engaged, so he chose a simple query. “What do you think you have?” 

She carried the documents back to him, then laid out three pages. “Tell me what you see here, Mulder.”

He chewed his lip as he read them. “That’s a long list of calls to Japan for a wheelchair-bound retiree on disability.” 

Richard Gonzales shifted to read over the tall agent’s shoulder. “All the same number, too.” 

Nichols, now taking over the general command of the investigation from Walter Skinner after a short interchange, had walked up to the group. “Same number? Let’s give it a ring, shall we?” He took out his cell phone, punched in the sequence, then switched the unit to speaker mode. A series of clicks and whistles had heads turning at the nearby tables, setting the balding Montanan frowning as he terminated the call. “If we were in the Arctic, I know what that would have been, Chief.” 

Mulder huffed. “Or Africa.” He shook his head at the confused glance passing between the two detectives. “Long story, guys. We’ll fill you in in a bit.” 

After inscribing the number into her flip pad, the auburn-haired agent looked up at her partner. “You don’t think there are any more of them left behind, do you?” 

He bent toward her. “Let’s hope not, Scully. Hunh. I wonder.” 

She turned to face him fully. “If they’ve chosen to use the shape-shifter’s speech to communicate with each other, the way Dine had been used during the Second World War?” 

He sent her a lop-sided grin. “It’d be even more unbreakable, wouldn’t you say?” 

She leaned a little bit closer to him. “But, any human using it would likely need some decryption capability, either written or electronic. It’s not like one could just ring up an old shape-shifting alien code talker for help.” They exchanged lighthearted glances before she turned to Gonzales. “Do we have a list of the items taken from her apartment?” 

The Latino detective rose. “Even better, agents, most of her personal effects are in Evidence in the back. We can go through them if you want.” 

Nichols hit his first speed-dial button. “If we’re to shape-shifters and your shadowy governments, Chief, I’m calling in the rest of the team. I know Ros had time on the telescope this week, but I hope that’s not tonight.”

\--o-0-o--

Evidence Room  
Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 12:07 am

“Okay.” Richard Gonzales surveyed the cluttered shelves. “We should be looking for what, here?” 

Dana Scully glanced up at her partner, then turned to him. “If they’re communicating in code we should expect a laptop, or one concealed in something else.” 

Jerry Donato chewed his mustache. “We didn’t pick up a computer, of any size, not even an old beat-up calculator. So, a book?” 

Nichols grunted, then limp-swaggered over to a far shelf. “These were all the volumes we pulled from the residence.” The others joined him, the group checking through the small pile quickly. 

“Nothing in Japanese, or gibberish.” Mulder put his fists on his hips. 

Scully had been eyeing the wheelchair. “According to these ticket stubs, she took three flights to Osaka in the past four months, and she has a handicapped notation on them all.” She tried tugging at the left armrest with her right hand. 

“Hey, guys.” Andrea Rosen greeted the group, smiling, until she saw the sling around the diminutive agent’s arm. “Are you alright, Scully?” She jogged to older woman’s side. “Hey, it’s freezing in here.” 

Donato pointed to a glassed-in room in the back. “We keep tissue samples in there, so the air conditioning is set up. It’s better out here than in there, but, if people have been in and out, it’s worse.” He chuffed at the willowy brunette. “You cold?” 

She nodded. “My measurements got clouded out, so I spent an hour on the exercise bike. I had just finished showering when Nic called.” She caught her former partner’s eye, then pointed with her head toward Mulder and Scully, who were pulling and poking the wheelchair tubes and wheels. The tall agent was in his full suit, still, as were the other men in the room, but his partner was only in her sleeveless green shell. Her teeth were firmly set as they worked, her cheeks pale. 

The balding Montanan dug his car keys out of his pocket to toss them to the brunette triathlete. “Get the spare Bureau raid jackets out of the trunk, Ros. There are a couple that would fit you.” 

A single tuck of her chin, then she was out the door. 

Mulder glanced over. “Was that Rosen?” 

Nichols nodded. “She’s cold. She needed to get a jacket from my car before working in this room.” 

Scully was pushing down on the seat with her palm. “This feels too stiff.” She straightened to make a request of her partner. “Mulder?” 

He was regarding her with soft eyes. “Yeah?” 

One ginger brow arched. “What?” 

“You okay, Scully?” 

She held out her hand. “Your pocketknife?” 

His fingers had just slid into the opening on his hip, but, at Rosen’s return, he looked over. She was wearing one jacket, while holding out another. “Hang on, Scully.” He took it with a grateful nod. “Here.” He held the thick black coat open. “If you catch your death in this refrigerator, Mrs. Scully will have my head.” He tried a one-sided grin on her. 

She checked his eyes before turning to Rosen, hovering at her elbow. “I didn’t think I’d need a coat when I packed. It’s June, after all. Thanks.” She slid her right arm into the sleeve, keeping herself rigid as her partner wrapped the jacket around her sling, then closed the top three snaps. 

He held her gaze for a moment. “Okay? Can you still move around in that?”

Her face was a porcelain mask. “Yes. Thank you.” The jacket hung down nearly to her knees, but at least it covered the worst of the browning stains on her slacks. 

A nod, then he retrieved a red-bodied knife from his pants pocket. “Okay, here goes.” After a few moments of cutting, he lifted out a black tablet. “We don’t have anything like this at the Bureau.” When he pressed the green button at the lower right corner, the screen began to glow. “We were right, Scully. It’s Japanese.” 

The others crowded around; Nichols lifted his cell free. “Let’s try that number again.” As the clicks and whistles sounded in the space, kana and kanji characters began forming in bursts from top to bottom, right to left. 

Jerry Donato grabbed a Polaroid camera off a shelf by the door to take three photographs of the characters on the screen. “Anybody have an idea what happens now?” 

Scully pulled down on his arm, so he lowered the unit for her. “Mulder, hit that blue button with the E on it.” When he did, the new words appearing were in English. 

“Jeez!” Mulder turned his free hand so the palm was upward. “What is this? Translation on the fly?” 

Eight more characters appeared: PASSWORD.

“I have no clue.” Gonzales shook his head. “Anybody?” He checked the faces around them. 

On the screen, a white rectangle blinked at the start of a new line. 

Nine characters materialized: INCORRECT. 

“PASSWORD,” appeared again, the cursor flickering in place. 

Rosen reached over Mulder’s arm to hit the green button, turning the screen dark. “We don’t want that to Mission Impossible on us. We only have two more opportunities to make the right guess, I think.” 

Nichols smiled at her. “Thanks, Ros.” 

Mulder was checking the faces around the room. “So, Alice Franklin had this device to translate into and out of the shape-shifter’s speech.” 

Scully tapped the black case. “Mulder, you said Zama’s notes were all in Japanese, but, the texts you had once we recovered the briefcase were different from the ones you saw originally.” 

He placed the tablet on a nearby shelf before bending over her. “As if Zama was encrypting directly into the Japanese equivalent of the encoding? Possibly.” 

She met his gaze. “This tells us something else about the Shadows, you know.” 

He nodded. “They don’t trust each other. The Americans are still using Dine, or else your name wouldn’t have been in the MJ documents.” 

“Or Duane Barry’s.” She turned to the thick-chested detective. “How do the characters look? Good enough for someone to decipher?” 

The black curls bobbed. “Yeah, I think so.” He held the plastic up so the rest could judge for themselves. “I know someone who could read these, if we knew where she was.” 

Richard Gonzales turned to his partner. “But, you couldn’t reach her.” 

“Who?” Mulder burst out. “Let’s take them to this person.” He pulled out his cell phone, his index finger over the keypad. “What’s her number?” 

A small hand rested on his wrist, but Scully was checking Donato’s eyes. “It’s Sandra, isn’t it?” 

The black-haired detective nodded. “Yes, but I’ve called all the numbers I know. I couldn’t get through to her on any of them.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist stepped over to him. “When I visited her at her office, she let me use the one next door to communicate with Agent Mulder. There were piles of paper I had to crawl over to get to the desk. Could she be there?” 

Donato’s dark eyes narrowed. “That’s Tom Wilton’s. Let me call Judy. She could get us in, if it’s locked.” He was punching in numbers from his notebook as he slipped out of the evidence room. 

Richard Gonzales stepped over to Nichols and Rosen. “Could somebody catch me up here? I didn’t get to review your documents like Jerry did.” 

Nichols checked the partners. Scully had her fingers wrapped around Mulder’s shoulder, but his gaze was on his black shoes. “Chief? You want to give us a hand, here?” 

The haunted cast to the hazel when their eyes met had Scully shaking her head. 

Rosen turned to the Latino detective, but Jerry’s shout of Sandra’s name echoed through the open glass door, bringing the attentions of the group to him. 

“Sandra! We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He frowned as he listened. “Sandie? What are you saying?” He pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at the unit. “She hung up. She barely said my name. Then she hung up.” 

Scully guided her partner away from the others. “We need to tell them something, Mulder. We need Sandra’s help here.” A few strands of her hair caught on his jacket lapel as she shifted close to him. 

“I know.” He bent to meet her gaze. “I need to be the one to say this, Scully. I owe them that. I owe *you* that.” 

She nodded as they walked back to the group. “Jerry can take the photographs to Sandra. He’s most likely to get her help of any of us.” 

Nichols was standing in front of the rest when they returned. “Chief?” 

The dark-haired agent squared his shoulders. “Guys, you need to understand what happened when Scully and I met with Sandra.” He launched into an abbreviated version of the events of the afternoon and evening, concluding with a direct plea. “Detective Donato, I know you and my sister are close. Please, make sure she’s okay. I can’t.” He shook his head, then turned away from the others, sighing as Scully’s small hand landed on his back. 

“Okay.” Jerry exchanged a few quiet words with Gonzales before he left the evidence room. 

The Latino detective looked over to Rosen. “So? Can you help me catch up, here?” 

After a glance at Mulder and Scully, she nodded. “Let’s set up in one of the witness interrogation rooms, shall we?”

\--o-0-o--

Meyer Hall  
University of California at San Diego.  
Saturday, 12:58 am

Jerry Donato held the door for Judy Wilton. “Let’s hope Sandra’s still in there. If what I’ve seen over the past twenty-four hours is any guide, there is a lot we need to do to keep her safe.” 

The slight blonde professor led him to the elevators. “Detective, does this have anything to do with the Osaka Collective?” She tapped the square button, orange light shining through an over-sized four, then she looked over at him. 

He chewed his black mustache for a moment. “It has everything to do with them, Judy. If they come sniffing around that collection of artist studios where you work sometimes, give us a call, but, don’t engage them. They’re very dangerous.” 

As the doors rolled open, she sighed. “I was afraid of something like that.” She was working her way through her keys as they walked. “The outer door is usually unlocked, but Sandie may have turned both.” She rattled the handle, then inserted a key with a blue identifying band. Once through, she knocked at the inner door. “Sandie? It’s Jerry and I. Are you in there?” 

A few thumps sounded. “Is it just you?” 

“Yes.” The black-haired detective leaned against the wood. “Everyone else is at Northern Division. We have some evidence in Japanese we need your help with, Sandie.” 

They heard a click, then Sandra stepped through the opening. She was in her black latex riding shorts and a navy blue and gold jersey, her feet covered only in the undercut cycling socks. “I’m sorry, Judy. I know I should have asked, but, after today, I needed to be here. Right here.” She waved into the enshrouding darkness. 

The slight blonde wrapped an arm around her tall friend’s waist. “I know, Sandra. Jerry told me about what happened at the wind tunnel last night.” 

The hazel squinted at him. “Jerry? How did you know?” 

He reached for her shoulder. “Agent Mulder told us, Sandra. He’s horribly worried about you, as are we all. You shouldn’t just disconnect like that.” 

She pushed his palm away, then broke free of Judy’s embrace. “Oh, so it’s infected all of you, now?” She snorted. “These secret societies out to get us all? Destroy America as we know it?” 

Jerry reached into his jacket pocket. “Sandie. I don’t want to get into that with you. Can you translate these?” He held out the three Polaroids. 

She eyed him as she took them from his hand, making an effort to avoid physical contact with his fingers. Once they were hers, she crossed through the piles of documents to reach the desk. A paper pad on her lap, she was squinting at the first photograph when they joined her. 

Jerry pointed. “I tried to take pictures top, middle, bottom. I wanted to get everything as closely focused as possible.” 

She smiled up at him. “This is good. I can see it all.” She began writing, marking the paragraphs 1, 2, or 3. When she was finished, she tore off the paper. “Okay. I see why you wanted me to read this. There are instructions on accessing medical files somewhere on a server.” She tapped the page. “That’s the IP address. They’re not using a name-server, which makes sense for the lean operating system they must be running. All you need is the password, and you can start the ftp.” She handed the photographs back, along with the paper. “This is for a case, right?” 

“Yes. The Bureau and the U. S. Marshals are involved. If we can get these files, we can know why there are two people dead, and, almost a third.” 

She tossed the pad back on the piles before she looked up again. “A third?” 

Jerry sighed. “The people who may be behind this information tried to kill Agent Scully. She’ll be okay, but she’s got one arm all bandaged up to over her shoulder, in a sling.” 

She sprang to her feet. “So, where was this brother of mine?” 

The thick-chested detective turned to Judy. “Doctor Seymour-Wilton, would you wait outside, please?” 

The willowy blonde looked from one to the other, finally settling her gaze on Sandra’s face. “You’ll be okay?” She would ask her friend about her brother at a quieter hour. 

The brunette moved over to hug Judy. “Yes, I will. Just wait for us, please.” 

After another concerned check of both their faces, the blonde professor stepped into the hall. 

Sandra rounded on Jerry. “So, where was he?” 

The black-haired detective had been considering how little he needed to say to sate her curiosity, yet not deepen the rift between sister and brother. “He was right there, Sandie, he pulled her to safety, or else she would be dead.” 

Her hands on her hips, she was tapping her foot. “But?” 

“They had quarreled, and I don’t mind saying it was because of you.” He folded the paper around the Polaroids before slipping the lot into his inner jacket pocket. 

She responded first with a hard glare. “What? That’s between us. How did you know?” 

Feeling the lateness of the hour, Jerry rubbed his face. “Because he told us. They’re stone-cold professionals, Sandie. They’re Bureau, focused like hawks on the investigation. Scully should be in the hospital, but she’s right there, pulling her weight, and more. Nothing stands in the way of a case, which is what this is. I suspect they’ve been through hell and back on these people more times than they’ve let on. I respect that, deeply. So should you.” He crossed his arms. “Do you have any clue what the password is? Any insight?” 

She shook her head. “No. Let me come back with you, Jerry. If this is as important as you say, I’ll need to go over it with Dana. I trust her. If there are medical data in the files, she should be able to work out what they are. Maybe my brother can be of some use. We shall see. My street clothes are in my pack in my office. Let me get changed and we can be on our way.” The two stepped out to the waiting blonde, who locked the outer door before they left.

\--o-0-o--

Interrogation Room Two  
Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 1:31 am

Richard Gonzales looked from one face to the next, the five of them gathered around the dark table. “Okay. What you’re telling me fits with the documents from the trial, but, what’s this about the Arctic? About Africa? Does it have anything to do with the rocket in the news?” 

Mulder nodded. “The shape-shifters left on that rocket.” 

The Latino officer sent back a quick stare. “But, how do you know?” 

Scully twisted on her seat, moving her spine off the vertical frame. “We were there, Detective. We had spoken with the shape-shifters at length before they took off. Saunders and Knox went with them.” 

Gonzales covered his eyes with his palms for a moment. “You have to understand how this all sounds, Agents. If I hadn’t seen what I’ve seen these past twenty-four hours, this would all seem like science fiction.” He dropped his hands to his lap. 

Nichols rested his arm on the wood. “I know. If we hadn’t lived it ourselves, we wouldn’t have believed it, either. Trust us on that.” 

At the voices in the hall, Rosen stepped to the glass, then peered outside. “Guys, Detective Donato’s back, and Sandra’s with him.” She closed the door. “They’re headed this way.” 

Scully checked her partner’s face. The blaze of joy she caught for a moment was rapidly extinguished by sorrow, mixed with more than a little fear. “Mulder, let me talk to her.” She pointed toward the one-way mirror. “If you’re fast, you can slip in there and watch her.” She grasped his wrist, then released it. “Maybe by the end, we can bring you back in.” 

A nod, then he stepped out. 

Jerry Donato had delayed Sandra with a trip into the Sargent’s office just long enough for Mulder to close the door behind him. “Okay, I think they’re in number two.” 

The chestnut-haired professor took one glance at Scully, then crossed the room to grasp her shoulder before bending over her. “Dana, are you okay?” 

The auburn-haired agent found her feet. “Tired, but I’ll mend. So, tell me what you’ve discovered.” 

Sandra stared at their reflections. “He’s in there, isn’t he?” 

Nichols nodded. “We know, Doctor Miller. It’s okay. Just be seated.” 

But she was in the corridor, returning after a few moments, her fingers wrapped around Mulder’s arm, scolding him as he staggered along behind her. “This is an investigation, Jerry explained. You have intuition based on experience into matters such as these, he says. So, you should be here, Fox.” She dropped her hand, turned her back to him, then settled in the nearest metal chair at the table. 

The tall agent waited for her to sit before he leaned against the wall behind her. His gaze never left her long chestnut curls, but he said nothing. 

Scully padded over to stand in front of him. They held each other’s gaze, then exchanged nods, before she took the seat by Sandra. “Okay, so, what do we have?” 

Jerry laid out the photographs and the paper. “This password is for a web-site with medical information. Why Alice Franklin was supposed to be accessing it is something else we’ll need to figure out.” He turned to the diminutive pathologist. “That’s about all.” 

The auburn-haired agent hooked her laptop to the Department network. “We have the IP address.” She connected to the site. “If this was her real name, we’ll just use that for the login.” After typing in ‘franklin’ she hit the Enter key. 

Gonzales had been looking over her shoulder. “But the password?” 

Scully clicked in ten characters, then Sandra let out a gasp of surprise. “What was that?” 

A bandaged shoulder slumped. “REANDROGEN.” She spelled the word, rather than speaking it. “I remember the doctors who ran the tests on me kept using the name, expecting us not to understand.” 

“Re-generate humans.” Mulder shook his head. “They didn’t expect you to live, Scully.” He moved behind her to grasp her undamaged shoulder. “It didn’t matter to them even if you could work it out.” He looked down at his sister. “Sandra, now do you see? These people are -” 

“Evil.” She rose to meet his gaze evenly. “I *do* realize that, Fox. But, what I want to understand is *you*, not what *they* are.” 

“Samndra. Thank you for helping. For being here.” He enclosed her in his arms. “I’m your brother. I’ll always be your brother.”

She pushed her way free. “Are you? I don’t know.” She was out the door, Jerry Donato on her heels. 

Sinking into the chair his sister had just left, Mulder dropped his face into his hands. 

Scully typed several keys, then looked over at Rosen. “Please, keep track of the download.” She leaned against her partner’s shoulder, but said nothing. They would speak later, when they had privacy. 

Donato opened the glass door. “I’m running Sandra home.” He beckoned the Latino detective out to exchange a few quiet words, so the four agents were alone. 

After a long moment, Nichols faced his former partner. “How’s it going?” 

“Fifteen percent, Nic.” She turned to Scully. “If these really are medical data, will you be able to make sense of them?” 

The green-blue eyes met her hazel ones. “If I can’t, I’ll take it to Susan Miles. Between us, we should be able to understand what was so important about these data.” 

Mulder straightened in his seat. “She’s a double agent. She has to be. She’s feeding the Smoker what he wants to hear, while working with the Japanese Shadows. There’s no other explanation for why she’s dead.” He checked his partner’s face, desperately relieved when she nodded, then sent him a shallow crease of her cheek. 

Nichols let out a puff of a sigh. “I think so, Chief. We saw that often enough with the drug dealers.”

Scully rubbed the jacket over her bandaged shoulder. “None of this explains where James Andrews is, though, or what happened to him.” 

Acutely sensitive to her physical discomfort, Mulder placed his hand on the back of her chair, so only his fingertips contacted her bruised spine. “Or what Don Tapping wasn’t supposed to find.” He cocked his head, waiting for her confirmation. 

“We still have work to do, Mulder. When the detectives get back, we should take stock of what we know, so we can go forward.” She held his gaze. “We’ll work this out.”

Nichols checked the three faces. “Okay, time to caffeinate, guys. I’ll be back. This isn’t the usual Police swill. Hang tight.” 

“Twenty-five percent.” Rosen pulled a face at the slow progress. “So, where is the suspect in Alice Franklin’s death?” She looked from one partner to the other. 

Scully shifted on the seat. “He’s still in Holding, but I don’t expect we’ll get anything out of him, even if we could talk to him.” 

Mulder rubbed his eyes. “We’re under orders from Pierce to not interfere with his case.” 

Rosen frowned. “But, when has that stopped you two?” 

The door opened. Nichols was not carrying coffees, but the black tablet, in his latex-encased hands. “This was a dead-end.” The glass was melted, a hole burned completely through the unit. 

“A fail-safe, just as we had feared?” The auburn-haired pathologist was musing to herself.

After a nod, Mulder turned to Rosen. “How’s the download?” 

“Thirty percent.” 

The diminutive agent leaned over. “Open another X-term and be certain the files are actually coming down and have size. I don’t think we’ll be able to get back in.” 

A few keys clicked. “Yes. They’re all there, so far.” 

Scully slid her chair over. “Try cat’ing one. Let’s see what’s in it.” 

Rosen frowned. “Looks like binaries, not text. This may be a while.” She shook her head. “No, the connection’s been terminated. That’s all we’re getting.” 

The partners exchanged a tired glance. “Let’s hope that’s enough.” Mulder rubbed his face. 

Her concern deepening, the brunette astronomer leaned forward. “Guys, you forget we know you. We know how hard you run. When was the last time you two ate? Slept?” 

Scully cocked her head. “Onion rings?” Her cheek creased. That carefree dinner seemed forever ago. “No, breakfast on Thursday, before flying out here.” She turned to her partner. “Mulder? What about you? Did you get anything on the flights out?” 

He sent her an odd glance. “No. Onions rings it was.” A tiny light crept into his eyes at the memory. 

She reached over to grasp his shoulder. 

With a snort, Rosen pulled out her cell phone. “Cary? Babe? I hate to ask this, but could you throw together some of your veggie specials for me? I’ll give you the address in a minute, after I get it from the Sargent. Make some meat sandwiches, too. Great. Thanks.” She left the room.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 3:56 am

A tall African-American stepped into Interrogation Room Two. “Miss Hooper? Sargent Martin Johnson.” He extended his hand toward Cary, grasping her fingers firmly, but with care. “Thanks for such a delicious repast. My officers and these agents have been putting in some long hours.” 

After a glance at Rosen, she smiled broadly. “I’m happy to do what I can to help, Sargent Johnson. Andrea has told me a little about this place.” 

He offered her his arm. “Then, as thanks, let me give you the cook’s tour, so you can meet some of your other fans.” 

Donato watched them go, Cary’s round form bobbing along beside his whip-thin superior. “He’s a good guy to work for. He always has our backs, regardless.” 

Gonzales nodded. “Yeah. He’ll make a great Chief of Police, one day.” 

Scully eyed the black tablet, abandoned in the middle of the table. “We should send that back to the Guys. If anyone could work out the technology involved in that, they could.” 

Nichols shook his head. “I don’t know how you’d get it back to them, unless one of you hand-carried it, but none of you will be headed east for several days.” 

Gonzales grunted. “Yeah. We’d normally use the Marshal’s services for something this sensitive, but that’s not going to happen.” 

Mulder took his last bite of roast beef on rye. “We’ll have to carry it back when we go, but we can at least get them started on the files we downloaded.” He turned to his partner. “You want to give them a call, or should I?” He smirked. 

She tossed her head. “I’ll do that. We’ve given them a nice, long break, Mulder.” 

Donato patted his mustache with a paper napkin, the bright yellows of the sunflowers printed on it a stark contrast to the greys of their surroundings. “So, who are these Guys?” 

The tall agent shifted on his seat. “A small group of experts outside the Bureau we consult for sensitive stuff we don’t want falling into the wrong hands.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department / Office of the Lone Gunmen  
San Diego, CA / Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 4:21 am / Saturday, 7:21 am

Frohike rolled over at the rattling phone. “Lone Gunmen.” 

Scully canted her green-blue eyes toward her partner, who smirked at her expression. “Frohike, we have some files for you to decode.” She tucked her chin, waiting. 

He was shoving his hair back over his crown with his free hand. “Doctor Judd, what a pleasant surprise! The Professor hovering anywhere nearby?” 

One cheek quirked. “Who, Quatermass, or Miller?” 

Frohike banged on Langley’s door as he mouthed, ‘It’s her,’ at the tousled blonde hair, then, rapped at Byers’s entrance. “Why, Miller, of course. Do tell us, Agent Scully, what’s she like?” 

The auburn-haired pathologist shifted on the seat. “Frohike, one look at her long, muscular legs and flowing chestnut hair, and you’ll forget all about dumpy little me.” She winked at her partner.

\--o-0-o--

Gonzales’s eyes went wide, so Donato dragged him out of the interrogation room before he could begin commenting under his breath. Once they were in the hall, he stepped close. “Save it, Rich. If they can help us detangle this mess, let them.”

His black eyebrows beginning to twitch, Gonzales checked back through the glass. “These Bureau guys are so steely-jawed focused I didn’t expect, I don’t know, chatter like that out of her.” He grinned. “At least she’s not serious as-” 

Jerry Donato nodded. “-a Moirai all the time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know. I met them together at Sandra’s place, when she was out of town. They weren’t quite this somber. Although, he was almost as flighty as a feral cat when he was on his own.” 

The Latino detective walked them both down the hall. “So, what *did* happen with the delightful Professor Miller?” 

Jerry shook his head. “I dropped her and her bike off, she said thanks, and closed the door.” He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know what to do, so I came back here.” 

Gonzales nodded. “Okay. When we get off-shift, drop by again, if you have any gas left in the old tanks. Agent Mulder and she are family. I don’t see what her problem is.” He held up both hands. “Okay, if he had murdered somebody, I’d get that. But, giving a suspect a rough talking-to? That’s what’s eating at her? After all the years they’ve been apart?” 

Donato eyed him. “Don’t judge, Rich.” 

“But, I can.” Gonzales leaned forward. “I have brothers and sisters I haven’t seen in decades, Jerry. If they showed up on my doorstep, I’d take them in, let them sleep in my bed, regardless of the badge.” 

The thick-chested detective began pacing, then stopped to rest his hand on his partner’s back. “Rich, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You told me you got your folks out, but you’d never said. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Gonzales’s shoulders slumped. “Not really. We’re trying to get them out legally, but they’re farmers. My sisters never made it out of grade school. You know how restrictive the immigration requirements are for people in Nicaragua. It’s better to sneak across the border to Costa Rica and work for good money than fight with US immigration. They’re okay financially, so, there’s that, at least.” He sighed. “But, thanks for asking.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Should we go back and see if the guy on the phone’s proposed yet?” 

Jerry’s mustache twitched. “No, let’s leave them be.” He pointed back at the hall. “We can get some of our other work caught up on while they’re all Eliot Nessing in there, what?” 

The partners headed back to their desks.

\--o-0-o--

Back in Alexandria, Frohike was huffing, playfully feigning offense. “You will always have my whole heart, Dearest Doctor.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Okay. How should I get them to you? I have Internet access, so I won’t have to use dial-up.” 

The round-faced Gunman waved Langly and Byers into their lab with him. “I can send you some new encryption software so you can load it on our ftp site.” He powered up a computer. “Look for an E-mail from me very shortly. Don’t tell me where you got it on this open line.” 

She tapped several keys on her laptop. “Okay, waiting. I’ll send you the information on the source encrypted as well.” Her auburn eyebrows drew together. “Your mail is here.” She clicked. “I’ve got the information. I’ll send the files back to you shortly.”

\--o-0-o--

As Scully leaned back from the computer, Nichols rose from the table, then looked to his former partner. “Let’s go rescue Cary from her adoring fans and bundle you two on home, okay?”

Rosen joined him. “Yeah, I should get a bit of sleep before I have to head into the Lab. We’re likely to have clear weather once the Sun sets.” 

Once they were in the hall, he touched her shoulder. “Ros, I can’t thank you and Cary enough for what you’ve done here.” 

She cocked her head. “I didn’t do all that much, Nic.” 

“No, you did more than you needed to, Cary especially. The last guy in my job wasn’t very good with the local constabulary, and I’m trying to make amends. We’ll need their help, a lot, over the next few years.” 

“Feeding hungry police officers a free home-made meal in the middle of the night is always a good place to start, Agents.” Johnson had joined them, Cary beaming on his arm. Once the trays and plates had been collected, the spouses on their way, the African-American turned back to Nichols. “You meant what you were telling Doctor Rosen?” 

The balding Montanan nodded. “Of course. What you’ve seen over the past day or so is just the tip of the iceberg for what we have to investigate in the near future. If we can build up some fellow-feeling, it will help going forward.” 

Johnson’s gaze drifted back toward the interrogation room. “What about your other agents?” 

Nichols huffed through his mustache. “Actually, they’re my bosses, in our odd little corner of the Bureau.” He checked over his shoulder. “They’ve been partners for six years, so it’s best to give them their space at times like this. That’s how they’ll make it through.” 

The Sargent offered a knowing nod. “Okay, let’s get back to it, then.” He held out a long arm.

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division / Atlantis  
San Diego Police Department / Athinios City  
San Diego, CA / Santorini, Greece  
Saturday, 4:52 am / Saturday, 2:52 pm

Mulder watched Scully rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly. “How are you holding up?” 

She lifted her head to prop her chin on her right hand. “The food helped.” She turned toward him. “We can’t make any progress on Marshal Tapping, at least not tonight, but we can follow up on James Andrews, you know. I don’t think Director Skinner has had the chance to do so.” 

He checked his Swiss Army watch. “Yeah, it’s the middle of the afternoon on Santorini. Mom will be out food shopping at the Saturday market, so we can speak with Max without interruption.” 

“Unless he goes with her.” She smiled gently. “I’m glad they found each other, Mulder.” 

He hit his fourth speed dial button. “Yeah.” The phone on his ear, he grinned. “Max?” 

“Mulder?” Slightly out of breath, the white-haired man settled behind the desk. “Hello! How are you doing? Have you met up with Samantha yet?” 

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” The tall agent rose to begin pacing as he spoke. 

“Not at all.” Max waved a hand. “I was outside working on the gardens and had to trundle to the phone. Really, how are you? How is Dana?” 

The dark-haired man glanced at his seated partner. “Scully’s fine.” He sent her a wave. “We’re here working a case on the West Coast and wanted to see if you’d heard from Eric, yet.” 

Max chuckled. His no-nonsense stepson was coming right to the point, as usual. “I haven’t, but I did some checking. Andrews never made it to the show. The organizers had no idea where to reach him, so that was a dead-end.” The door opened and closed, so he waved Caroline to him when she stepped into the study. “Sorry to have such bad news, but your Mother just stepped in. I’ll turn the phone over, alright? Good to hear your voice, Mulder.” He handed the cordless unit to Caroline as he mouthed, ‘They’re on a case in California.’ 

She set her basket of eggplants, cucumbers, and tomatoes on the sofa beside her. “Fox? You’re on the West Coast? Have you seen Sam? How is she?” 

Mulder sagged into the closest chair. “Hey, Mom. How are you?” 

She smiled at the air. “Missing my boy, Fox. You ran us ragged, but at least you were here. How’s Dana?” She waited. 

Mulder sent a desperate glance to his partner. “She’s here, too. We’ve been to Sandra’s house. She’s really kept up the gardening. And her lab. She has graduate students, Mom.” He bit his lip. 

Caroline leaned forward. “Fox, you forget, I know that tone. What’s wrong?” 

Mulder rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Mom, there’s nothing-” 

“Fox.” The word sounded a tocsin. 

He took a long gasp. “Mom. Don’t.” 

“Fox!” She was on her feet. “Tell me.” 

“Mom. I can’t. She’s okay. That’s the best news, right?” He glanced desperately at the glass doors. “Mom, I gotta go.” He terminated the call. 

Scully stepped over to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Mulder, at least she knows-” Her phone was ringing now. “Special Agent Dana Scully, Federal Bureau of Investigations, speaking.” 

“Dana, this is Caroline. Tell me what happened, please.” She reached for her husband’s hand. 

Placing the phone on speaker, Scully shifted her chair close to the dark-haired agent’s left side. Even if his shuddering breaths were preventing him from continuing the call, he could at least listen in. “Caroline, we were on our way out here, but the old man cornered her first.” 

“That monster! Isn’t it enough he threatened Margaret? What lies did he tell her? Can I speak with her? We need to set her straight on who her friends and enemies are, Dana.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist glanced over at her partner. “We’re trying, Caroline, but she has her own will, as strong as Mulder’s about some things.” She bumped her partner’s left shoulder with her right. “He didn’t tell her lies. He just misrepresented some of Mulder’s actions, and that’s caused her to doubt him. We’re going to try to work through this. She needs to know the truth to be safe.” She paused. “Caroline, I need to ask you a couple of questions about Bill Mulder, if I can. Is that okay, or should I call back later?” 

The white-haired woman shuddered, then relaxed in the long arms wrapping around her shoulders. “No, please, ask.” 

Scully quickly recounted the events on Martha’s Vineyard, finishing with, “Did he ever tell you about his tattoo? Did he ever let you see it? It was on his right wrist.” 

Caroline sighed. “He never had any tattoos while we were married. If he had one when you were performing the autopsy, that must have been acquired after we separated.” 

Scully closed her eyes. “Okay, thank you, Caroline. I’m so glad to hear your voice, even if it’s not the most pleasant of subjects. I wish I could still be there.” 

The older woman’s lips spread into a genuine, broad, smile. “It’s a joy to hear you, Dana, and to offer you congratulations on your promotion and commendation. Margaret was barely in the door when she arrived in Annapolis before she called us. I’m so happy the Bureau recognizes you talents. It’s about time they did.” 

The diminutive agent caught her partner’s nod out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Caroline. Would you like to speak with Mulder?” She felt him stiffen against her shoulder. 

“No, I know my son, Dana. He’s tried so hard, all these years, taking care of me while looking for her, but this has him overwhelmed. You know that too, I’m sure. One final question. Should Max and I come back to the States? Will that be a help at all?” 

Scully let out a long breath. “Caroline, it might come to that, but we’ll keep working the problem on this end, okay? You need to stay safe.” 

The older woman frowned. There was something she knew the red-haired agent was holding back, but after getting to know her son’s partner, understood instinctively it must have been for a valid reason. “Alright, Dana. I’ll trust your good judgment. Just give my boy my love, and my girl, when you see her. You’ve been such a good friend to our broken little family. Please come visit whenever you have the chance. We miss you both.” 

“Okay. I will.” The diminutive agent terminated the call, then tucked the black unit into a side pocket of the FBI jacket. She looked over her shoulder at her partner. 

He had rested a hand on her back. “Thank you, Scully.” 

“You’re welcome.” She had no strength left, at that moment, to do anything other than lean against his palm. “We’ll work this out. I promised Caroline, and I won’t disappoint her.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 6:33 am

Richard Gonzales watched Mulder and Scully leaving, he walking a solicitous half-step behind her, one hand hovering just above her waist. “She must be made of steel, that one.” 

Jerry looked up from the folders he was stacking. “Yeah. Like Maria.” He smiled wistfully at his memories. “So, are you all filled in?” 

The Hispanic detective chuckled. “Yeah. Agent Rosen wasn’t kidding when she said what we knew from before was the easy part. Gonna be hard to go back to shoplifting arrests after all this is done.” He studied his partner’s canted mustache. “So, tell me what you think of your future brother-in-law.” His eyes twinkled at Jerry’s snort. 

“Rich, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Sandie was a great help translating the Japanese, but she could barely speak to him, let alone about us.” Donato looked over as he heard the fwip, fwip of the double doors swinging open. “Oh, this isn’t good. I’m getting the Sarge.” 

Gonzales stepped around his desk into the main aisle to block Marshal Pierce’s advance. “Welcome back, Sir. How may we help you?” 

The grey-haired Marshal glared through his sunglasses. “My suspect is where, Detective?”

\--o-0-o--

Marriot Sorrento Valley  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 7:41 am

Dana Scully stopped in front of the entrance to the adjacent room, one of the long plastic hotel dry-cleaning bags tucked in the sling. She lifted her knuckles, then froze. She wanted nothing more, at this moment, then to return to her room, eat a handful of analgesics, crawl in bed, then sleep through the day and night, uninterrupted. All it would take would be a simple call from her, as she lay with the blankets to her chin, for it to happen. Her partner would cover for her, in an instant, even probably arrange for room service unbidden when she awoke. But, that would be wrong. They needed to address the events in the parking lot, here, now, not let them fester as slight after slight had piled up following his father’s and her sister’s deaths. They could not afford to let all the hard work of the past few years wither away into recrimination. There was too much at stake. But, yet. All of her ached: her arms, her legs, her back and shoulders. As she rested her forehead against the steel, she heard several thumps, followed by a quiet expletive. “Mulder? You okay?”

There was the pounding of running feet, then the door was pulled away. He was barefoot, shirtless, in only the old pair of grey knit boxers he used when trying to sleep in a strange bed. As she had in her room, he had drawn the black-out curtains, attempting to simulate night on a long summer day. He had just finished his shower, so his hair was wet and spiky. A muscled arm curled around her shoulders to guide her inside, but, when his fingers contacted the gauze, he dropped his hand to her waist. “Yeah.” The plastic rustled as she passed, turning his eyes soft. “You need help with that, Doctor?” 

She held the bag out. She was still in her shell and torn linen slacks, but she was barefoot on the carpet. “I can’t seal it closed over my shoulder the way I should before I shower.” 

His fingers closed around the plastic. “Okay.” Suddenly overwhelmed, the arm around her waist drew her closer. “Oh, Scully. Come in. Please. Come in.” 

She forced down the tinge of fear that had her wanting to push him away, instead, leaning into his side, feeling the warmth of his skin soaking into her bare shoulder. She reached around his back, to be rewarded by a rumble that was part sigh, part purr. The words of reconciliation would come in a few minutes. Right now, there would just be this. 

He guided her delicately to the chair nearest the bathroom, then knelt to ease her down onto the seat. He held out his left hand. “Let me have your key. I have a bathtub so you can soak as long as if you were back at your place.” A sympathetic grunt escaped him as the grey diamond-shaped tag dropped out of her unsteady grasp. “I’ll get your things so you can wash up.” With one quick stroke of his right palm, he smoothed down the curls wind-tangled on the left side of her head before he rose to step away. 

She propped herself against the wall, the various aches numbing her senses as she waited. She awoke suddenly at the light brush of his fingers over her wrist. “Sorry.” 

He was bending over her, taking in the bruising on the arm not swathed in gauze. “I’ve laid out your robe and sleeping clothes in the bathroom. I think the water’s the right temperature.” He pointed to the black case on the bed. “When you get out, we can change that dressing. You were doing more than you should have.” He picked up the plastic bag, but it slipped through his fingers to pile on the carpet. “Sorry.” After holding it up, he looked over at her anxiously. “It’s probably not very sanitary, anyway.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist sent him a gentle quirk of her lips. “It never was. Don’t fret, I’ll be out in a few minutes.” 

As she passed him, he grasped her unbound shoulder. “Take all the time you need.”

\--o-0-o--

“Scully? You okay in there?”

She pulled herself awake, sending water onto the floor. “Sorry. I was too comfortable. I’ll be out.” 

When she emerged, he spun from the center of the room where his relentless pacing had carried him. He had pulled on his jeans and half-buttoned his dress shirt while she had been inside. Three long steps, then he was beside her. “You did your hair?” 

Wearing her sleeping shorts and loose-fitting Bern t-shirt under her robe, she had one towel haphazardly wrapped around her head. “Of course.” 

He reached up to adjust the terrycloth, but, she pushed the towel around feebly, then slid it away. After lifting it from her fingers to toss in the nearby sink, he led her back to the chair. “Okay. Slip out of that bathrobe and I’ll take it from there.” 

She cocked her head, expecting a teasing comment, but there was only silence. 

In fact, the solemn expression on his face as he rolled the sleeve back to her collarbone, replaced the gauze, then fastened the sling around her shoulder, was as intense as during any of their arguments. Finished, he closed her black case before sitting back on the bed to take a long inhale. “Scully, I-” 

“You don’t have to explain, Mulder.” She reached for his wrist, but he was on his feet, beginning to pace again. “It’s alright. We’re alright.” She stepped into his path.

He took hold of her right elbow. “No, Scully.” The desperate terror in his eyes had her turning her wrist to grasp his arm. “No. It’s not alright. What I did to you was wrong, both as your partner and as your friend. I was well on my way to destroying all the work we have done, you and I, these past few years. Worse, I could have killed you with the car, just because I was angry at how it went with Sandra. I can’t tell you how awful I feel for what I did.” He held up both his hands. “I don’t know how to make it up to you.” He stared down at his bare feet. “I don’t want to turn into my Dad, shoving all the people in my life out of it. I would never blame you if you did, but, please don’t leave.” 

She reached up to grasp his scratchy cheek. “Mulder, I understand everything you’ve just said.” She dropped her fingers to his shoulder when he tried to pull away from her. “But, I know the man I’ve worked with these past six years. You weren’t angry, Mulder, you were devastated. All of those burdens you’ve carried since you were twelve were gone for a few blessed, wonderful minutes. You were free, finally, to become who you were meant to be. But, when we tried to tell Sandra even a little of what she needs to know to be safe, she was overwhelmed too. That brought all your troubles back to collapse on you at once, locking you in a vault stronger than the one in Bern.” She dropped her palm to clutch his wrist. “You were so very, very happy, Mulder. I’ve never heard you laugh like that.” She pressed her forehead close enough to contact the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve carried so much sorrow through the years. I am so deeply grateful I was there to hear it gone for a little while.” 

He gasped, then wrapped an arm around her back. “Scully. You don’t-”

She moved away, but kept her hand on his waist. “Know this, as I am certain it is true. I’ll hear that from you again, one day, very, very soon. I am sure of it.” Freeing herself, she leaned against the wall. “Mulder, I’m so sorry for what I did.” 

He stepped toward her, reaching for her unbound wrist. “What do you mean? You were trying to be my partner, to keep me safe. You don’t need-” 

She gazed up at him. “I was certain if I let you go you would be dead. They were waiting, after all.” 

As he bent over her to touch her shoulder for a moment, his eyes darkened. “If you hadn’t pushed me, Scully, you would have been left standing in that parking garage, and you would have been picked off like a pigeon in a cage.” He dropped his gaze to the bandages around her arm. “I would have lost you.” 

Her auburn curls shook. “Whoever it was wasn’t aiming at me. The bullet went into the car, Mulder. They were after you.” Her green-blue eyes canted toward the left. “This was just collateral damage.” 

He settled on the second bed in the room to look up at her as she approached. “Oh, I think they hit what they were aiming at, Scully.” 

She sat across from him. “Mulder, I’m not certain I follow.” 

He headed into the bathroom, returning with her brush and a dry towel. He had watched her often enough when they had been forced to share a hotel room that he knew her evening routine. As she worked on her curls, he bit his lip. “We’re a threat to them, both of us. If the Bureau can figure out how good you are, so can the Shadows, especially now that He’s running things again. They took you once before, when you had Barry’s implant. I think Amanda -” 

She tried raising her left arm to help separate the strands, but after a quick hiss, went back to simply brushing. “Amanda? You mean Amanda Edwards?” 

Both long hands reached toward hers, then fell into his lap. _She won’t take my help._ He rose to begin pacing, hoping the conversation would focus him. “Yeah. We didn’t run her to ground after she left the Bureau. There’s been too much going on. But we know she was somehow one of the leaders. We went through Quantico together, she and I, so I have a sense of how she thinks. The Smoker, if he were behind this, would never do anything so rash as to try to assassinate us in the open. He’d play his games, set his snares. But, she, she liked to end things, quickly, cleanly. I should have seen this before.” He huffed softly. “She’s close to him, I’m sure. He’d give her a lot of leeway. But, he wouldn’t sign on to something like this.” 

Scully stepped into his path. “So, is this something we can turn against them? Can we push on this until they split outright? Is this the mission we give Shiffeln?” 

He regarded her soberly. “Yeah, Doctor, let’s check with Nichols to see if he thinks this guy can really handle it. We might.” He studied the slump of her shoulders for a few moments, then picked up her bathrobe to hold it open for her. _She’ll never ask._ “You’re beat, Scully, you need to get some sleep. I’m going to be up a bit longer. I need to think this through.” 

She slid her right arm in the sleeve, then waited while he wrapped the terrycloth over her sling. “Back to the treadmill?” 

He began collecting her toiletries and torn clothing. “Yeah.” 

She had tied the robe closed. “Just as well. Director Skinner might be stopping by to check with you, Mulder. I need to leave you manly men to your privacy.” She cocked an eyebrow at the quick, choked snort that escaped him. 

“Yeah. Gotta love that quality time with Dad.” He walked beside her to her door, then unlocked it for her. After she was inside, he carried her belongings back to her suitcase. He stepped up to her to rest a hand carefully on her good shoulder. “You call me if you need anything. Okay?” 

After a nod, she dropped the bathrobe onto the foot of the bed, then slipped gratefully under the covers. “Sure. Wake me if you have something you need to talk through, promise?” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” His hand on the door lever, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey, you should have some water so you won’t have to get up.” He padded back to the bathroom where he filled a plastic cup for her. Once he had set it on the stand by the bed, he bent over her, brushing the tips of his fingers along the fading scar on her cheek. “We’ll be okay, Scully.” 

Her eyes closed, she shifted under the blankets. “Five more minutes, Mulder.” She made the quiet request, sounding half-asleep. He checked her over to be certain she was settled, adjusted the comforter so her shoulders were swathed, then cast the room into darkness as he stepped out.

\--o-0-o--

Rooftop Cafe  
Trilogy Sanctuary  
La Jolla, CA  
Saturday, 11:46 am

Judy Seymour-Wilton studied her friend over the last of her eggplant and portabello mushroom rolls. “Sandie, I’ve been thinking some about your dream you were so concerned about last week.” 

Sandra’s dark, too-heavy eyebrows drew together, then lifted. “Oh, that.” The few hours of sleep she had managed after returning from the Northern District had left her groggy. “It seems like such a small thing, now that I have to try to keep my research group together, without Tom’s help.” She was nibbling at the last piece of kale from her salad as she thought. 

The blonde positioned her fork on the edge of her plate, tines down. “Actually, I don’t think it was. I think you were trying to tell yourself something very, very important about your relationship with your natal brother.” 

The brunette rubbed her eyes tiredly. “My brother. He’s as bad as James, but in a different way. Why does everyone keep going on about him? He’s just a jumped-up cop who’s let the power of the badge go to his head.” 

Judy twisted to sit on her ankle, then shifted her foot to the floor as the slats of the round seat bit through her shoe. “Maybe, Sandra, that’s what he becomes, not what he is. I think your dream was prophetic. I think it was about you making a choice.” 

Sandra sighed. Obviously, her friend was not going to let this go easily. “Judy, I thought you didn’t believe in myths and legends, just that you taught them.” 

The blond professor glanced out toward the mountains, which were visible through the clear air from their rooftop cafe. “But, Sandra, *you* believe, which is what matters. You say the two versions of your brother were pleading with three women over a young boy who was familiar to you. What if that boy was the brother you remember? What if by you not intervening, just sitting off to the side, he becomes the thing you fear?”

A breeze ruffled the spikes of the potted palm behind her as it lifted one corner of her napkin. Sandra tucked it under her now-empty square plate. “Next you’ll tell me the three women were the Triple Goddess herself, sending me a message, telling me to make the choice.” 

Judy pushed a few stray hairs off her forehead. “No, Sandra, I’m not telling you that, maybe *you’re* telling you that.” She took a long sip of mineral water. “You and Tom were forever honing your intuitions about turbulent cascades and atmospheric wakes. Maybe this is that intuition of yours, but with Tom’s death, dreams are the only way you can have this internal dialogue?” 

The brunette tossed her head. “Okay. Maybe you’re right, Judy. So, what do I do? He has Dana. They’re not lovers. They just don’t give off that vibe, but they do rely instinctively on each other, and care deeply about the other’s well-being. Plus, there are all those others in the Bureau. I didn’t realize, until this morning, just how effectively they all work together. Jerry already is moving over to his side. What difference will I make?” 

The blonde professor felt a sudden flush of rage. “Sandie! Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You told me he’s looked for you all his life. If anyone means anything to him, you do.” She leaned back, startled by her friend’s twitch. “Sorry. It’s just that, men, statistically, while they love their sisters, don’t value them as much as women value their brothers. Yet, you’ve been his absent center, his Persephone. Grab that role. Help him become the person he was meant to be. Otherwise, he’ll become that power-obsessed man you don’t want for him.” She reached across the table to rub the curled fingers. “Oh, and Jerry will always be on your side. Never doubt that. Having been married to Tom for as many years as we were, I can tell that for certain.”

Sandra closed her hand around her friend’s palm. “Yeah, I guess I knew that, too. I’m not sure I want to get that involved with anyone. I’ve lost so many people, Judy. This is my biological family, supposedly. What if they disappear like my other two? Maybe it’s better if I just make my own way in the world, without strings, without commitments.” She gazed off over the nearby rooftops. 

Judy chewed her lower lip for a moment. “That’s just grief talking, Sandie. Give it some time.” 

The brunette professor leaned forward. “Judy? You trying to tell me something?” 

“No. I don’t know if I’ll ever meet anyone I’ll love like I did Tom.” She tried on an uncertain grin. “There will never be anyone like him.” 

Sandra shook her head. “No, there won’t.” A snort. “Listen to us, Judy. Absent centers. ‘Fixing’ men. If we were talking about lovers, rather than brothers, this would all sound like something out of a Harlequin. What happened to all our feminist principles?” 

Judy eyed her friend. “Romance is easy. Family is hard.” She glanced over as a guitarist took at seat at the far end of the dining area to begin tuning. “It’s a truth much of literature tries to invert, especially fiction written to wrap around selling shoes. But, remember Sophocles: 

‘Had it been a husband dead   
I might have wed another, and borne   
another child, to take the dead child’s place.   
But now my father and mother both are dead,   
no second brother can be born for me.’ 

Your Mother isn’t dead, but your Father is, and your Mom’s too old to have any more children. You’ll never have a second natal brother, Sandra. Don’t lose this one.” 

The brunette chuckled. “So, we’re to the Greeks. We’ve gotten as deep as we want to get on a Saturday afternoon.” She contemplated the clouds on the horizon. “Okay.” She leaned forward. “I’ll try to speak with him before he heads back east. Where things go from there, we’ll see.”

\--o-0-o--

Marriot Sorrento Valley  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 12:21 pm

Walter Skinner pocketed his cell phone. Sharon had been more than understanding about his prolonged absence, but after too many separations for his taste, he wanted her to know how much he appreciated her patience. He checked the number on the room key he had acquired the previous night, noting that he was two doors down and across the hall from his agents. So much the better. While he had been sufficiently jet-lagged to understand the desire for connection, he and Mulder were different enough people that he needed his own space. Once inside, he dropped the Foot Locker bag on the bed closest to the door. This would have to do for fresh clothes until the immediate crisis was past. 

He considered ringing the dark-haired agent, but decided this news should be delivered in person. After letting his own door swing closed, he made his way to the tall man’s room. “Agent Mulder?” He leaned against the steel before he rapped. There was no answer. Either he was out exercising, or the partners had set out tracking down another lead. Three steps later, he was outside the adjacent entrance. “Agent Scully?” She needed to rest, but he knew she would never shirk her duties for reasons of injury or fatigue. When he heard nothing inside, even after a few minutes of waiting, he began walking back to his temporary quarters. Partway down the hall, he stopped. He had heard a ripping pop, which told him someone within had heard his query, so he turned back. The barrel of a SIG-Sauer was projecting beyond the frame slightly. 

“Sir!” The tall agent pushed his way through to hold the steel closed against the frame, but not latched, behind him. “Sir?” 

Skinner’s eyes narrowed. “Agent Mulder?” 

A huff, then the weapon was holstered. “Agent Scully’s asleep. She doesn’t know I’m here.” He checked back into the darkened room. “But, after yesterday, I needed to keep watch. They’re after her, Sir.” The tenor was scratchy. “They almost got her.”

The Assistant Director offered a grim nod. “They’ll come after both of you now, Mulder.” In times past, he would have dressed him down for the argument Luther had intentionally revealed, but, no longer. The recrimination in the dark-haired man’s eyes had told him there were no words he could toss out that his agent had not already silently flung at himself in the darkness. 

The younger man stepped away from the barrier, but left his fingers on the lever. “Where does the investigation stand, Sir?” 

“Into the attack on you two? Not where it ought to, Agent.” 

“Sir? Are you here?” A small hand was pulling the door away. “Mulder? Director Skinner?” Dana Scully was just inside the entrance, checking their long, blackened faces in turn. “What are you both doing here? What’s happened back at the Division?” 

The bald Director’s jaw set. “The Marshals have taken Luther, as well as the ballistics evidence. The charges I filed have been dropped, at all levels.” 

The partners exchanged a glance before Mulder protested for both of them. “But, Sir, Sergeant Johnson agreed we were to keep him for a few hours longer.” 

Skinner rubbed the sides of his nose under his glasses. “The matter was taken out of his hands. Pierce went to the police chief.” 

“Without letting him know of the Bureau’s involvement, I’m certain.” Scully adjusted the robe more firmly closed around herself. “Sir, have you spoken to Senator Matheson? What does he advise? Can he help us here?” 

He began with a shake of the bald head. “Not anymore, Agent Scully.” 

The tall agent crossed his arms. “Luther’s gone.” 

Skinner set his teeth. “Of course, Agent Mulder. You were expecting the Smoker to just let us keep him?” 

“Sir,” Scully interjected, “We think we have a plan for that.” 

The Assistant Director’s dark eyes traveled from one drawn face to the other. “I’m glad someone does.” 

She stepped back so they could both enter. Once the door was closed, she spun. “What can you tell us about Rob Shiffeln’s abilities?” 

The bald Director regarded them both somberly. “He hasn’t given up on his efforts to convince you two to let him go undercover with the Smoker, has he?”

Two heads, turning from side to side. 

“If anyone could pull it off, he could. He’s one of the Bureau’s best covert operatives, when he puts his mind to it. But, he’ll have to be extensively briefed.” 

Scully regarded her supervisor carefully. “Will you be participating in that, Sir?” 

Skinner took off his glasses. “Yes, Agents. I will. I want both of you there as well. It’s time you knew what I did. All of it, for what little good it will offer. Agent Scully?” 

She had been padding to the small closet by the bathroom. “I’ll just be a minute.” She turned back to him. “Unless we should wait for you to catch a few hours, Sir?” 

Mulder began walking toward his partner. “Scully, you should get some more rest.” 

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I feel better. I can catch up tonight, Mulder. This is too important.”

Skinner reached for the door lever. “Agreed, Agent Scully, on both counts. We need to do something to unsettle that old spy. I’ll meet you out front after a quick shower.” The younger man began to speak, but the Director held up his hand. “I have my own room, Mister Mulder, two doors down. Be ready.” 

The tall agent moved to stand beside his partner. “We will be, Sir.”

\--o-0-o--

Fenleyding, Northumbria  
Saturday, 6:01 pm

Alex Krycek dropped a opened codex on the desk in front of the Suebi, the stiff parchment flapping as it landed. “Tell me about this ritual.” He pointed to a title in Gothic handwriting. 

The long nose turned up to him. “That has not been used in centuries. I’m surprised there are even written descriptions.” 

The dark-haired man extended a folded sheet toward him. “Then, how did this get in there?” 

Age-spotted hands took the paper. On one side was a typewritten copy of the text in the Codex, with written annotations above. Under each line, astronomical symbols ran. The Suebi smoothed back his white hair. “I recognize the handwriting, but not the symbols. This was written by the Atrebates of the Slav. He would often take notes for her and pass them on to me, if it was important. Why was he reading this? And when?” 

“You mean Christina Knox, or some other Slav?” Krycek sneered. “Who was he, anyway? Why would he agree to be led around by a woman?”

The Suebi sent him a sharp glare. “You are very young, and very full of yourself. Some of the world’s greatest leaders have been women: Elizabeth Tudor, Catherine di Medici, Hatshepsut, Empress Catherine the Second, Maharini Jindan Kaur. That half the human race has not been able to govern, or participate in any human endeavor to the fullest of their abilities except in a handful of cases, is one of our species’s greatest failings, and one we are working to rectify.” He grasped the slender shoulder firmly. “All I can tell you of the Atrebates was that he was a member of the organization to which you formerly belonged. He had retired at quite a young age, for us, before he agreed to officially assume the office. He had acted in that capacity unofficially for some time prior, as some choose to do.”

The younger man’s eyebrows both arched. “William Mulder? You must be joking.” 

A Berluti-clad foot stamped. “Tribuno, we do not use the names from the outside for the Forty among ourselves. She will be the Slav, until the initiation is complete. He will be her Atrebates, until the Slav chooses her new chief lieutenant. Why are you asking about this ritual?” 

The dark-haired man crossed his arms. “You might need it for your new Riata. She still has attachments in the outside world: a Mother, two Brothers, nephews, friends in the Bureau, Mulder.” 

The Suebi pushed himself to his feet. “We do not cut ourselves off from the outside, Tribuno. We live in two worlds, attempting to elevate each. The Riata should be approached as we have done for centuries, with persuasion and logic, not with force, nor with indoctrination. She will be encouraged to keep her position in the Bureau, in fact, we will use our allies to see to her advancement.” 

The younger man let out a breath through his teeth that sounded like a hiss. “Oh, you overestimate her. She’s one of the straightest of straight arrows. She can’t do duplicity like you want. She’ll break mentally and then where will your precious Fellowship stand?” 

A long hand waved. “You should put this away now. It should never have been uncovered, not by the Slav’s Atrebates, nor by you.” 

Krycek poked a line on the facing page. “But, what does this mean: by a decision of all living members of the Ekklesia present?” He looked up. “Does that mean all living members must be present for the choice to use the ritual to be valid, or only that of the living members who could be present?” 

The white head shook. “That is indeterminate.” The Suebi closed the book. “Now, put this away, back where you found it. I would throw the document on the fire, let it burn away to nothing, if it were not part of the records of the Ekklesia.” 

Krycek offered a mocking bow. “Then, back it goes.” 

The pale blue eyes followed the younger man as he disappeared around a bookshelf. _Perhaps I should not have trusted him. He refuses to abandon the ways he learned among the others and embrace our methods._ He turned to smile at the dark-suited figure by his elbow. “Yes, Frijdolf?” 

“Sir, shall I bring the tea?” 

“That would be most appreciated, old friend.” He waved at the bookcase. “What do you think of our Tribuno? A firebrand?” 

Frijdolf looked back over his shoulder. “He is as you describe him, Sir. Very young, and very full of himself. Such men may prove vital to the future, if they are well trained.” A slight smile, a bow, then he padded silently toward the kitchen.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files West Office  
San Diego FBI Field Office  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 6:32 pm

“So, that’s it?” Rob Shiffeln checked the faces around the table. “This is the super-secret organization you guys are so concerned about?” The slight man let out a puff of disgust. 

Dana Scully shifted on her chair. “Agent Shiffeln, do not be misled, these people have been involved in heinous crimes against this nation and, through its other branches, the rest of the civilized world. They must not be underestimated.” 

He leaned toward her. “Agent Scully, I’m not disagreeing with you.” He sent her a tight, mirthless, smile, then waved at her bound arm. “You, you especially, can say that.” He turned to her partner. “You, too, Agent Mulder, with your sister and all.” 

A brown cowlick dropped on the tall agent’s forehead. “But?” 

Shiffeln unconsciously pushed at his own receding hairline. “From where I sit, these guys are almost too-easy pickings. The involvement of our government?” He glanced at Nichols. “Phil will tell you: drug cartels own governments all over the world.” He waited for the Montanan’s confirming nod, then rose to begin circling the ASAC’s desk. “See, the people we deal wit’ don’t sit and have big confabs in Manhattan high-rises like your guys do. They just blow people away. There’s always a new face, a new cell, popping up, followin’ the markets.” He stopped by Walter Skinner’s chair. “Yeah, Walt, I hear you about the secrecy, but, this Smoker guy, who’s the head honcho now. He’s what? Seventy-five? These guys in the other organizations are gettin’ just as long in the tooth?” He crossed his arms. “Yeah, they’re a power alright, but sooner than you think, they’ll be makin’ bad decisions, forgettin’ stuff.” 

Rosen leaned over the table. “But, there are younger operatives who are very capable coming up. We suspect it was these who engineered the assassination attempt on Agent Scully.” Her hazel eyes canted toward Mulder’s nod of affirmation. “We know about the Americans, some of them, but the Europeans, the Japanese, the Chinese?” She shook her head. “We have little intel to give you on them. If you go into a meeting with them, you’ll be blind.” 

Nichols’s chair creaked. “Rob, I have to agree with everyone here. These guys don’t mess around, regardless of their high living. Take the next couple of days to read over the documentation we have. Sandra sussed out connections we didn’t know about the Asian operations that we’ll be following up on.” He glanced over at his former partner. “We don’t want to let you go in empty-handed. There is that information we have a group of experts back in DC studying that will tell us more about the Japanese.” 

Mulder found his feet, circling to stand beside Shiffeln. “My original contact on the inside, years ago, told me there were branches in Russia, China, France, Britain, and Germany. If the Europeans are working as a collective, that’s something, but, it’s just a guess right now.” He rested both hands on the desk to address their operative, eye to eye. “We know nothing about the groups inside Russia, or, as we discovered a couple of years ago when Scully and I were down there on a different case, the organizations in Central America. Also, we know they have bases in Africa, but how much those are still in use we don’t have the forces to determine, just yet.”

Scully closed the folder in front of her. “These organizations keep popping up, almost as fast as we think we’ve uncovered something on them. The more we learn, the more we realize we don’t know. We’ll give you all the help we can, Agent Shiffeln, but, if you decide there is not enough information to start up this undercover action, we’ll understand. You’re the one at the most risk here, so it must be your choice, and yours only. We deeply appreciate your eagerness to take on an extremely challenging assignment, but Agent Mulder and I both know the danger involved when going it alone.” The partners held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

Shiffeln watched nods from the others in the room at her unspoken recommendation. “That’s not a problem. I’ll think this over for a few days, while your guys get that intel. Okay?” 

Skinner and Nichols checked each other’s faces before the bald Director turned to the slight man. “That’s all we can ask, Rob. If we do this, we’ll need to carefully construct and seed support for your cover story. There are highers-up in the Bureau working for Him, who can access your personnel file with a simple phone call. Keep that in mind, too, as you weigh your actions.” 

The slight agent held up both hands. “Guys, I get it. This’ll take time to set up. Really. I’ll take these documents and do some plottin’. Thanks.” He settled back on the chair in the center of the office. 

The jangling of the phone on the desk had the balding Montanan reaching to pick it up. “Sargent, thanks for calling me.” He listened for a few moments. “Okay. Let me alert the Agents here, and we’ll head to the Northern District. That may be the break we’ve needed.”

Mulder had returned to his place next to Dana Scully. “What?” 

Nichols arched both greying blonde brows as he replaced the hand-set. “Good thing we left that list of suspects behind, Chief, and the SDPD kept poking around. Donato and Gonzales have found a James Andrews listed on a flight from San Diego to JFK, then changing planes to Brussels. He paid excess baggage fees on both.” 

The partners exchanged a glance before Mulder spoke calmly. “That’s where we’re headed next.”

\--o-0-o--

Northern Division  
San Diego Police Department  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 7:19 pm

Jerry Donato looked up as the double doors swung open, then the four agents entered. “Hey, over here!” He waved them toward an interrogation room. 

Mulder stepped to his side as they walked. “Sounds like you have more than just flight manifests, Detective.” 

“Oh, yes. You’ll see.” The thick-chested detective held the door, nodding to Scully as she passed, then grunting in surprise at Walter Skinner. “I thought you were headed back for some shut-eye, Director.” 

The bald man shook his head. “If this is the break we need, I wanted to be here for it.” 

Nichols chuffed through his mustache. “Video? You guys managed to score surveillance video?” He sent Gonzales a thumbs-up. “Ros will be upset she missed this, but she needed to get ready for her telescope time tonight.” 

The Latino detective waited until they were all seated, pointed to Jerry, who dimmed the lights, then Gonzales pressed play. The wide-angle camera lens caught Andrews approaching the ticket counter, before checking multiple square flat black cases through as luggage. 

“So, whatever he was supposed to be selling in these art shows to the Osaka Collective, ended up going east to Brussels.” Martin Johnson had taken the chair closest to the door. 

Mulder turned to Scully. “It doesn’t look like he was transporting fake artifacts here.” 

She shook her head. “No, these are cases for paintings. So, what are they, stolen?” 

Johnson chuckled. “Probably just misdirected.” 

Donato nodded. “Evans was supposed to have purchased what, eight paintings?” 

Gonzales flipped through his notes. “Yes, that’s right. How many cases did Andrews check in?” 

“Eight.” Mulder’s clipped answer had a ring of certainty. 

Scully turned to the African-American sergeant. “So, these were supposed to go to the Orient, but he took them to Europe. There must have been a lot more money offered if he was stiffing Osaka.” 

Mulder shrugged. “Or, the paintings are hiding something else.” 

Scully cocked her head. “Electronics? Other documents on the Japanese Consortium?”

The dark-haired agent shifted to address her directly. “Are we seeing communications not involving the American organization?” 

Scully twisted on the seat to move her bound shoulder out of contact with the metal ribs in the back of her chair. “Would that be a surprise, though, Mulder? Considering how unstable the group became under the Four, taking a longer-term view would mean bypassing the weakest link.” 

Gonzales waved a hand at the partners. “Guys, catch the rest of us up again, okay?” 

Nichols turned to him. “The American organization has ostensibly been the lead among the Shadow governments, but it split, probably into those loyal to the Four and those loyal to the Smoker. We were following up on the deaths of many of their operatives.” 

Skinner took off his glasses. “They’ve taken to advertising for replacements under the guise of hiring for a government contractor, which is sheer desperation, based on how organized they were before.”

The auburn-haired agent uncrossed, then re-crossed, her legs. “I think he was transporting electronics, probably in hollows in the frames.” 

Mulder leaned forward as he rested his arms on the table to look levelly into her face. “What makes you say that, Scully?” 

She tapped the back of her neck with her right index finger. “Pendrell said the implant taken from me was Japanese and without a power source, of manufacture beyond what we could do in the States. Add in the tablet to translate the shape-shifters’s speech and we’re talking technology well above what we’ve seen from the American Consortium, who have been relying on DNA markers and radioactive chips. Remember that second implant? The one that was corroded and has ceased working?” 

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily. “I’m unlikely to forget it, Scully.” 

She turned to Skinner. “You should be tested, Sir. You may have been injected as Saunders was for DNA modification purposes.”

The bald Director gritted his teeth. “I *was* injected, Agent Scully. We were told it was an inoculation for hemorrhagic fever if we should have to travel to Africa for the Organization, but no such vaccination exists, I have since found out.”

Her auburn brows drew together. “Any health changes, Sir? Unexplained weight loss?” 

He shook his head. “I had the fatigue I usually associate with getting a flu shot, but developed none of the other minor symptoms one usually exhibits.” 

The half-glass door opened, revealing a uniform, who was beckoning to Martin Johnson. When the African American returned from the hall, he was openly grinning.

Donato and Gonzales exchanged a nod before the Latino detective offered a prompt. “Sir?”

“A terrible misfortune.” The twinkle in his eye told them it was anything but. “It seems, when we were required to turn over all materials relating to Marshal Tapping’s murder, one piece of evidence was left behind by mistake.” He rested his hands on the table. “The camera the Marshal was working on when he was killed.” 

The room exploded in gasps, then Mulder and Scully leaned close to each other. “Looks like we have two pieces of evidence for those layabouts to dig into.” She lifted her chin. 

His hazel eyes met her green-blues. “Yeah. That Pierce hasn’t been raising hell about it being missing is pretty telling, too.” He looked over at the Sergeant. “Our guys can dig into it. That way, the onus is on the Bureau for its disappearance, not the SDPD. Right now, I don’t think our relations could be much worse.” Scully and Nichols were nodding emphatically. 

Walter Skinner allowed himself a tiny smirk, but kept silent. His agents were growing into their new roles, almost before his eyes. 

Nichols stepped over to Martin Johnson. “Then, I think our accelerated shifting has been served its purpose. We’ve found case solutions for the murders we came together to investigate, even if convictions will be hard to obtain. Your guys still vertical?” 

The African American nodded. “They are. I’ll gather everyone in the main room for you.” 

As they filed out, Jerry Donato touched the tall agent’s shoulder. “Agent Mulder, take this.” He was holding out a slip of paper. “These are Sandra’s phone numbers. You have her home phone, I think, but not her work numbers. You two need to not lose touch, not after all this time.” 

Scully offered her thanks with her full-wattage smile. “We’ll check in with her after we finish here, won’t we, G-man?” She grasped her partner’s jacketed elbow firmly. “Okay?” 

His forehead deeply furrowed, he nodded, but said nothing as they walked.

\--o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue  
University City  
San Diego, CA  
Saturday, 9:47 pm

The Taurus silent in front of his sister’s house, Fox Mulder gripped the steering wheel. “Scully, I don’t like the thought of you being out here in this car alone.” 

She tucked her chin. “Mulder, I’d just be intruding. You and Sandra need to work this out for yourselves. You’re family.” 

He eyed her helplessly. They had been debating this for the entirety of the short trip here. 

They turned, in surprise, at a tap on the passenger door window. Sandra’s lips were stretched into a one-sided grin. “You called, Fox. I knew you were coming.” She opened the door. “Dana, I agree with my brother. Come inside. He and I can speak upstairs in my office while Salazar and Tugs keep you entertained. I have string toys for you to try out on them.” 

Mulder clucked happily as he rounded the Taurus. “Two against one, Doctor.” Nearly hopping with delight, he followed the women up the walk. 

Scully was gazing up at Sandra. “Honestly, I’d rather enjoy your garden one last time, but if I tried to sit outside under lights, I’d never hear the end of it.” She tossed the tease to the man behind her. 

Sandra dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Actually, I’d like to speak with you first, if I may.” They were at the door. “Watch for the felines.” 

“Sheah.” Mulder snorted. “Four legs good, two legs bad.” 

“Salazar!” Sandra was waving him inward as the round ginger face nosed out the door. “We have guests! Go back! Go back!” 

The auburn-haired pathologist leaned over, her hand extended. “You adorable little man, you.” She was stroking the M without touching the round-tipped ears. 

The ginger tabby’s rear lowered to the wood as he arched his head, blinking happily. 

Sandra snatched up Tuggles, who was marching back and forth in front of the three, his oyster tail waving proudly. 

Mulder bent over his partner as the door closed behind them. “Try that on me Scully, and-”

She had the British Shorthair under her right arm. “You’ll do all the vehicle requisitions for the rest of the year?” 

Sandra pointed up at the second floor. “Girl talk, Fox. Run away, now, while your manliness is intact.” 

He held up both hands, then bounded up the stairs. “Where’s your computer? That’ll keep me amused.” He waited on the upper landing. 

She beamed at Scully, who was settling into the sofa, still clutching the red tabby. “My Linux box is in the office, last door on your left. The passwords’s ‘reynolds’ in all lower case.” 

“Sheash. Way too many brains in this family.” He was grinning as he spun. 

Sandra claimed the armchair before releasing Tuggles, who joined Salazar, now on the floor, in a thorough inspection of Scully’s pant legs, their two noses twitching as they sniffed the hems and seams. “They’ll be at this for a while. You two are completely new to them.” 

Scully was beaming at the felines winding around her ankles. “One of Ahab’s sisters has cats. I was the only one who liked to visit her because of them, but they’re fascinating.” She touched the tip of one white ear with an index finger, then looked over at Sandra. “You wanted to discuss Mulder?” 

The professor pulled her chestnut hair back behind her shoulders with one hand. “Dana, please, give me your honest assessment of my brother. I trust your opinion.” 

The diminutive agent took in a long breath. “On the bad side? Some people would call him Byronic, melancholic. But, he thinks and feels so deeply, he just seems that way. However, on the good side-”

Sandra’s dark brows drew together. “I have to know. Do you trust him?” 

Scully’s smile faded into sincerity as she heard the softest of shuffles down the stairs. _Couldn’t stay away, could you, G-man? Well, listen to this._ “With my life, Sandra. On the good side, we have an honest, open exchange of intellects such as I have had with no other human being. We argue about our cases because we have different perspectives, but, it’s always been with respect for the other person, and the other person’s views. That’s rare, especially with men, as you know.” 

The chestnut-haired professor found herself nodding. “Yeah, I know the types you mean. Tell them the sky is blue, using Rayleigh scattering to explain why. In response, they’ll run to the closest window to point out a little haze at one location on the horizon, before they proclaim you completely wrong. Then they’ll stalk off, their chests stuck out like they had bagged an alpha lion, just for putting the smart broad, in their minds, back in her place.”

Scully held up her palm. “Also, most men consider women’s bodies disgusting and dirty, except for their sexual use. Your brother isn’t like that.” She blew out a frustrated breath as she shook her auburn curls. “I don’t mean anything untoward here about the nature of our partnership. He’s always been a thoroughgoing gentleman with me at all times, courteous, considerate, protective almost to a fault, while appreciating my independence and self-sufficiency. I trust him completely, both professionally and personally.” She paused at the quick intake of breath she heard from the stairwell. _Do you understand I’ve forgiven you for the parking garage, Mulder?_ “What I mean is this, Sandra, I had a hysterectomy a little over two years ago, from injuries suffered on a case. In the past couple of months I went into early menopause. None of that phased Mulder. He was as staunch an advocate with my physicians as anyone could want while I worked through hormone therapy. Most men couldn’t handle anything like that, even some spouses. Most importantly, he’s been my tireless champion at the Bureau. I can’t express my gratitude for his efforts to land me a promotion to Section Head, joint with him.” The nearly inaudible rustle on the stairs told her the message had been received. 

“But, when we spoke before, you said he had been violent with you once. What was that about?” 

Scully tucked her chin. “It came at the end of a case into drug companies using the homeless, all unawares, as test subjects, Sandra. It’s not our usual thing, but, we were directed to take it on. We went undercover as homeless ourselves. We were on the streets in November and December. I’ve never been so cold, even when we’ve been on cases in the Arctic. There, you expect the weather to be bad, and you prepare for it. But, on the streets of DC, it’s worse knowing you’re sitting outside an empty heated building in the dark. At the end, we exposed the operation, but not before both of us were injured, Mulder with broken ribs. The Smoker was waiting when we returned home and tried to provoke him. I had to intervene, but he was still angry.” She smiled down at Tuggles, who had jumped onto the sofa to sniff her sling. “We worked it out.” 

The chestnut-haired woman nodded. “Okay. But Jerry told me you argued. Because of me.” 

The auburn-haired agent sighed. “Sandra, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But, these are the wrong questions to be asking.” 

The professor was on her feet. “Then, what questions should I be asking, Dana?” 

Scully stroked the white tail before she looked up. “Who wants to keep you two apart, and why.” 

Sandra crossed her arms. “Don’t give me conspiracies, Dana. I won’t hear it.” 

After carefully checking around her feet for the round ginger body, the agent rose. “I’m not. I’m giving you truth. When you were taken away as a child, Mulder was treated with operant conditioning by your Father and the Organization so he wouldn’t be able to contact you, should he ever find where you are. Her voice grew soft. “Now, you two, you were just children. What harm could either of you do? We were fed information by untrustworthy sources about three years ago that you were taken to make your Father cooperative. But, he was aware of Mulder’s conditioning, in fact, as horrible as it is to contemplate, he participated.” She stood under Sandra’s nose. “I can only conclude one of two things. Either you two saw something as children that you could only understand by working through your memories together, or, if you finally did come together as adults, combining your magnificent intellects, you could do real damage to the Organization.” 

“But why not just kill us, Dana?” Her hazel eyes hardened. “That would have ended all their problems, wouldn’t it?” 

Scully’s green-blue gaze turned toward the stairs, where she could just see the black tips of her partner’s leather dress shoes sticking out past the stairway wall. “Mulder, you might as well come out. I know you’ve been listening to everything we’ve been saying.” 

He shuffled down to the lower landing, sending his partner depthless gratitude in a single glance before turning to his sister. “That’s a question we’ve asked each other multiple times, Scully and I. It would have been easier. But, we’ve had advocates over the years, Sandra, one in a man who is no longer alive.” He touched his sister’s back. “He watched me for years, and he took care of you after the Silverbergs were killed.” 

Scully nodded. “The Smoker may also have had hopes of recruiting one or both of you into the Organization when you became adults.”

Sandra turned to her brother. “How?” 

His eyes dancing over her face, he stroked her hair. “How what?” 

She drew in a shuddering breath. “How have you lived with this all these years, Fox?” 

He drew her into his arms, shushing her gently as he rubbed circles on her back. “I had to find you. I had to stay alive long enough to find you. That was all that mattered. For ages.” He choked back a sob. “But, I have found you.” The hazel canted toward his partner. “With Scully’s help. With the help of our Mom and her Mom and Max and so many other people.” His grip tightened. “I’ve found you. I’m not going to lose you again.”

Sandra tucked her face against his neck, letting her hair trail over his shoulders as she hugged him in return. “So, what will you do now?” 

He stepped back, taking her cheeks between his hands. “Expose the people who took you, who took so many other people who were never found. Seek the truth, whatever it is.” He glanced toward the auburn-haired agent. “With Scully. With you, if you want to.” 

She sighed. “I have a life, Fox. I worked hard to get where I am.” 

He enclosed her in his arms again. “I couldn’t be prouder of you, Samndra.” He palm moved up and down on her spine. “You have friends who will help keep you safe and sane even if we’re on opposite sides of the continent, or the planet. So, I don’t have to worry about you.” Releasing her, he took a step back. “Quite so much.” 

Sandra nodded. “Okay.” She drew in a deep breath. “Thanks for telling me all this. I need to think, to read, and to work this through. How long are you staying?” 

He stared down at black leather before he raised his gaze to reply, “We need to head back to DC tomorrow, Sandie.” 

The chestnut waves dropped over her face before she flung them back over her shoulders. “At least, we can have dinner together, the three of us?” 

Scully smiled at both of them. “Or, just you two. Drop me back at the hotel and I’ll be fine.” 

“No!” Brother and sister responded simultaneously. 

Mulder curled his fingers around his partner’s waist. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of us that easily tonight, Doctor.” 

She arched both brows. “Okay.” She tucked her auburn hair behind her ear as she looked over at the professor. “Know any good vegan restaurants?” 

Sandra sent her a flash of a grin. “More than you think.” She bent to scrub the heads of the two felines. “Be good, Boys, Mom will be back before your second nap.” After the three exited, she locked the door, then they headed down to the Taurus. 

As they walked, Scully looked up at the chestnut-haired professor. “So, these papers for NSF you’re working so hard on, how’s that going?” 

After a glance over her shoulder, Sandra chuckled at her brother’s frown. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, Dana?” 

Mulder growled playfully as he unlocked the Ford, but he was unable to hide his crooked smile. Being able to spend an uncomplicated evening in the company of his sister and his partner would be more than sufficient compensation for the incomprehensible conversations he knew he would be listening through. He would survive.

\--o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue  
University City  
San Diego, CA  
Sunday, June 21, 1998  
9:47 am

Sandra Miller frowned down at the notes spread across her small dining room table. She had outlined all three papers, assembled preliminary figures and references, ending by drawing up the main conclusions of each publication. What remained now was putting words to the text. She had been up since before sunrise on this Mid-Summer’s day. Now, she needed a break. 

Salazar and Tuggles had settled on the couch after breakfast, both waking occasionally to check her as she worked. Salazar was content to send her a few thumps of his ringed red tail, but the trickster in Tuggles needed more interaction. After vaulting into the center of the papers from the floor, he would let loose with three loud yowls, finishing with an attempt to roll around on her keyboard. He was slinking toward her again for a repeat performance, when there were three raps on the front door. 

“Sandie?” Jerry Donato peered in through the screen while he waggled his key gleefully. The tinkling set the white cat scurrying back to the cushions. 

Barefoot, she padded over as it opened, then closed, behind the black-haired detective. “Jerry!” She hauled him closer with one hand, then, wearing a huge grin, wrapped him in a bear-hug.

A puff of a grunt escaped him, then he embraced her in return. “Hello!” He found himself smiling just as broadly. “So, how was last night?” 

She danced in half-circles as they walked back to the table. “I have never been squeezed so much in my life.” She leaned toward him. “I had to pass a few along.” 

He placed both hands on her waist to still her restless motion. “Well, it had been twenty-five years. I know what I would do if you’d been gone that long.” 

She slipped very close to him, her eyes sparking. “Well, what would you do, Jerry Donato? What would you do on this Day of Days? On Litha?” 

A thousand forbidden thoughts ran through his head. “Sandie, I-” He let out a long breath.

Her tapered fingers were stroking his mustache. “What?” 

Jerry found it very hard not to give in to what she seemed to be asking, so forced himself to focus on a query. “What do you normally do to commemorate the Solstice?” The words ended with a squeak.

Her not-quite-full lips curved up her left cheek. “Oh, I don’t follow any particular rite. I’ve assembled my own rituals for my purposes. That’s part of the faith-search. So?” She waited expectantly, bent until her nose nearly touched his.

He took her left hand, holding the calloused flesh against his lips while he kissed it silently, then repeated the actions on her right, before pressing the palms together between his own. “I have Mid-Summer’s day off, for once, and you, Professor Miller, have been up working since the sky was utterly black, I’m sure. I would inquire whether you be willing to take a few hours away from the storied halls of academe to accompany this simple detective for a long walk down by the Marina, where you tell me all about this dinner with your brother, and we share an evening meal on the beach. Then, we come back here to provide aid and comfort to the Masters of the House, who must be attended in the manner to which they are accustomed. Hum?” 

Offering him her throatiest chuckle, she tossed her head. “What else are Mid-Summer days for?” She bounded upstairs for her shoes. 

Once she was ready, the door closed, the tumblers shifted, then the irregular thuds of their footsteps fell away into silence. When all was stillness, the Lords of the Manor each popped open an eye, lazily washed an ear with a paw, then curled around each other on the cushions, before blinking themselves back to sleep.

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter VI - Living in Harmony


	7. Once Upon A Time

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter VII – Once Upon A Time 

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

The Butler enters, pushing a cart with breakfast on it. He presses a button that rolls back   
the curtains over the display screen, elevates a round table, and Number Two’s chair, in   
which Rover is sitting. After setting the tray on that table, the Butler elevates an empty   
chair, rings a hand bell, then raises the platform on which Number Two stands. Number   
Two walks over to his chair and stares at Rover, then turns to the Butler. 

Number Two: Wait! (tastes the food) Remove it! (paces and stares back at Rover) I told   
you to remove it!

The Butler puts the breakfast back on the cart.

Number Two: (speaking into the orange phone) Remove that thing, too. (points at Rover  
in the chair) I’m not an inmate! Say what you like. You brought me back here! I’ve told   
you the last time you’re using the wrong approach. I do it my way or you find somebody   
else. (looks over at the Butler) Leave the coffee. (puts the orange phone back on the   
desk) The coffee, leave it! 

The Butler puts the coffee back on the table.

Number Two: (speaking into the orange phone again) How many times do I have to ask?   
(the chair with Rover descends and the Butler leaves with breakfast on the cart) 

Number Two sets the screen to show The Prisoner having breakfast in his cottage. Number   
Six is eating and pacing in his front room. 

Number Two (to The Prisoner’s image on the screen): Why do you care. Why do you care?   
You’re even relaxed. Why do you care? (Number Two walks back and picks up the   
yellow phone) Number Six please.   
The Prisoner: (walks over to answer the beeping phone) Why do you care? I know your voice.   
Number Two: I’ve been here before. Why do you care?   
The Prisoner: You’ll never know. 

The Prisoner hangs up the phone, leaves the cottage, claps his hands twice as the door closes. 

Number Two: (to the screen) Wait and See. 

The Prisoner meets another inmate and demands to know his number, rattling off numbers from   
one on up as the other inmate becomes increasingly agitated and tells him not to inquire. 

Number Two flips through The Prisoner’s progress report as various scenes of The Prisoner’s   
attempts at escape play on the screen. 

Recording of The Prisoner: I intend to escape and come back, wipe this place off the face   
of the earth, incinerate it, and you with it. (more scenes: destroys a speaker, holds up   
a Tally Ho) Is this what they did to you? Is this how they started to break you before   
you gave them what they were after? (more scenes: runs from Rover) I’ve resigned.   
I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered. 

Number Two: (puts down the progress report, picks up the orange phone) 

Recording of The Prisoner: I want to call a witness. A character witness. 

Number Two: Degree Absolute. I require approval. 

Recording of The Prisoner: Unlike me, many of you have accepted the situation   
of your imprisonment and will die here like rotten cabbages. 

Number Two: If you think he’s that important, there’s certainly no other alternative!   
You must risk either one of us! 

Recording of The Prisoner: Who’s standing beside you now? I intend to discover who are   
the prisoners and who the warders. 

Number Two: I am a good man. I *was* a good man. But, if you get him, he will be better   
and there is no other way. I repeat no other way!

Recording of The Prisoner: I will not make any deals with you. I’ve resigned. 

Number Two: Degree absolute and tonight, please. 

Recording of The Prisoner: I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed,   
debriefed, or numbered. 

Number Two: A week? That’s not long enough. You don’t want to damage him. 

Recording of The Prisoner: My life is my own. 

Number Two: Very well. Tonight!

Once Upon A Time

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Over the Midwest   
Delta Flight 1344  
Sunday, June 21, 1998   
10:31 am 

Fox Mulder twisted against the lap belt, then opened his eyes. He and his partner had the three-seat row to themselves, so Scully had claimed the middle, while he had taken the aisle. They had both drifted into sleep shortly after take-off, but not before she had spent a half an hour studying the genetic maps in the back of the Cavalli-Sforza. He had watched her flipping pages, comparing blood type distributions, then adding further comments to a numbered list in one of her notebooks, but he felt no need to disrupt her studies with a joke or tease. The knowledge she was acquiring for herself might come in handy on a case in the not-too-distant future. But, shortly after the food service carts had ceased trundling up and down the narrow aisle, she had flipped the spiral-bound pages and the black-jacketed tome closed, rested the short stack on the padding of the free window seat, then closed her eyes. She turned to move her back away from the stiff cushions before she settled in, her forehead bumping his shoulder occasionally as she sighed while passing into a light sleep. 

He had expected to be up reviewing the events of the past week, turning them over in his mind until he saw the pattern that would pull their investigations into a single thread. But her deep, regular inhalations after the endlessly long days of the intertwined case shifts had set him nodding as well. Now, as he focused into consciousness, he realized she had turned toward him to keep her spine clear of the seat, which left her piled next to his arm. He gazed down at the auburn crown, which was all he could see of her face. Having her this close-by was comforting, not only because it put his mind at ease for her personal safety. 

He had hoped to check her expression while she was sleeping, as this was as near as he would get to a true reading of her physical condition. She had been grunting softly as they had walked along in the airport, which might have meant she was in genuine pain. That worried him. Were her medications not successfully keeping the debility from her body’s recent transition through ‘The Change’ at bay? If he asked, would she, being her dedicated self, attempt to hide or downplay any physical weakness? Or, were the bruising and tearing from the assault in the parking lot finally exhibiting their toll, now that the need for her professional mask was lifted? _Two, G-man, one theirs and one yours. They’re not the reason she can’t rest comfortably on her back, are they?_ He bit his lower lip as he released a shaky breath, during a final effort to lean forward to see her face.

She was beginning to force herself awake as well, attempting to reach up with her left hand to rub her eyes. “Ooh.” She twisted until she was upright. 

“Hey.” He rubbed, for a few moments, the slight digits sticking out of the gauze and sling, that had been chilled in the wind of the air conditioning. “You cold?” 

She focused on him blearily. “Not really. Just more tired than I thought.” She checked to her left before offering a teasing comment as reassurance. “Good, they’re still there. They didn’t drop through the flotation device and into the cargo compartment.” 

Now that he understood it was just fatigue, he found himself unable to resist returning a fidgeting jest. “Sheah, Scully, the plane dipped to the left when you put them down. Pilot made an announcement.” All innocent sincerity, he arched his dark brows as he nodded. 

“Mul-derrr.” She quirked one cheek. “You look like you’ve been thinking.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, a little bit. One of the lecturers I had at Oxford left a message on my cell phone. He’s coming to DC to give a Smithsonian talk and wanted to get in touch.” 

She was scrubbing her face with her right hand. “Oh? What is he an expert on? History or psychology?” 

He shifted to bend into her face. “Neither.” Thoroughly enjoying the irritation flashing in her green-blue eyes, his lips quirked.

She cocked her head as she moved out of his gaze. “Mulder, no. Not UFOlogy.” 

He blinked delightedly. “You mean, I didn’t tell you he wants to offer me a position?” At her silent derisive snort, he shook his head. “No, his choice of odd-ball knowledge is far more terrestrial. He’s made a study of secret societies in Europe over the past 500 years.” 

That brought her attention to his face fully. “You think he might know something about the Forty?” 

He nodded. “I’m sure of it. I’d like for us to get together with him and our documents this next week, see if they make sense to him.” He looked up at the stewardess hovering over them, coffee-pot in her hand. “Yes, please, I think-” He glanced over at his partner. “-we’d like two, one with lots of sugar, and one with just cream.” Once the blue-suited woman had moved to the row behind them, he took a sip. “I’d like to read through the decoded sections of the documents again. How’s the battery?” 

Her forehead crinkled. “It should be okay for the rest of this flight, but we’ll need to recharge it during the layover in Minneapolis, if we have time and can find an outlet.” 

He finished his coffee, took her backpack down from the overhead, then set about reading, She, with the Cavalli-Sforza opened over the drop-down tray, returned to the maps and charts.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, 7:41 pm

The scrape of the metal door on the dumpster rail, loud enough to drown out the rumble of the apartment building’s air handlers, had Fox Mulder cringing slightly. He had just deposited the salad and soup containers from their Panera take-out not in the kitchen rubbish bin of Scully’s tidy apartment. His actions were a preventative in case they would have to leave precipitately to follow up one of the many leads their investigations had uncovered on the east or west coasts. As he turned to head back around the low brick building to the front steps, a black Yukon Denali rolled up, the unseen driver positioning it so it straddled the white line separating two parking spaces. He grunted at the discourtesy before he spotted a familiar face peering out the front passenger window. A broad grin began spreading across his features at Margaret Scully’s loose brown hair brushing her shoulders. But that, as well as a little wave, both fell away at the shake of her head and her sober expression. 

Backing into the shadows, he extracted his cell phone from his jeans pocket to tap the first speed dial button before the unit reached his ear. At the sound of running water, he frowned. “Scully? You still decent in there?” 

_This sounds serious._ She stepped away from the faucets. “Let me get dressed. Where are we going?” At the silence, she turned off the water altogether. “Mulder?” 

His first response was a grunt. “Mrs. Scully and your brothers are here, in what looks like a rental. How did they know you were back?” The repeated slamming of three elevated doors sent him slipping further into the dark. 

“I never told them I left. This must be a surprise visit. Ow.” She had transferred the phone to her left hand so she could struggle into a pair of khakis. 

_Surprise attack is more like it._ He bit his lip for a moment. “Okay, they’re headed through the front door. Your Mom doesn’t look very happy about all this. Should I?” 

Now, it was her turn to grunt. “No, I’m sorry, Mulder, but I think I know what Bill and Charlie have probably cooked up. I’ll give you a call when it’s over, okay?”

\--o-0-o--

Dark Apartment  
Washington, DC  
Sunday, 7:53 pm

The recliner rotated at the knock on the door. Releasing a sigh, the old spy muted the volume on ‘The Guns of Navarone’ before he rose to check his visitor. As the short dark hair bobbed outside, a broad grimace spread over his face. “Amanda!” He pulled the barrier aside. “My Dear. Come in.” 

‘Ace’ sniffed carefully before she entered. “You’re not smoking as much.” 

He held out his arm. “All due to your wise influence. I am afraid I don’t have much to offer in the way of refreshments for one such as yourself?” He poked his head out the door briefly. “You are without your escort?” 

She nodded as she scanned the bare room. “I needed to relay some information to you, not over phone lines or electronic communication.” 

He disappeared into his kitchen, returning with a trash can and a dust brush to sweep the beer bottles and cigarette butts off his side table. “Discreet as always, Precious Child.” He tucked the bin inside the kitchen door, then waved her into the recliner before moving a metal folding chair to face her. Holding out both hands, he requested, “Please, tell me.” 

She leaned forward. _This is the flimsiest thing I’ve ever sat on. Why does he still keep it?_ “I know who hacked our communications.” 

“Ah, excellent. Those three idiots of Mulder’s, perhaps?” 

Now, she looked up at him. “No, it’s the Europeans.”

A dark scowl crossed his lined features. “How do you know, My Dear? I had visited with our German colleagues not too long ago, and our meeting was most productive. They relayed that James Andrews had brought them more of the Japanese encryption electronics to try on that old man of the Forty.” 

“The Anglo-German?” She let out a yawn. “Sorry, too many long flights.” She rubbed her face. “Well, I should look them over to see if they’re up to the standards of what we’ve exchanged before, but I was able to activate my tracking software before the signals were lost. After switching through hubs around the world, the source was Bonn.” 

He crossed his arms. “Very well. A two-front war. We have the lessons of the failure of the National Socialists to learn from, so we shall not make their mistakes.” 

She slid off the creaking leather. “I should go. I told Drew not to pick me up at the airport because I needed to drop my equipment back at my lab.” 

He walked beside her to the entrance. “Most intelligent. As always.” 

She had her fingers on the doorknob, then turned to look up at him. “I’m sorry.” 

He hooked one hand over her shoulder, the yellow tint of his skin garish against her black polo shirt. “For what, My Dear?” 

“I should have consulted with you before I made my plans for Scully.” 

His dark eyes turned somber. “Yes, you should have. All turned out well, for us, but had anything gone wrong, we could have emplaced contingencies, just in case they were needed. You have learned a lesson I expect you will remember in the future.” 

As the barrier closed behind her, ‘Ace’ wrinkled her nose. _I really will have to go by the Lab. I have to shower this stink off and change my clothes before I go home to Drew._

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, 8:57 pm

At the key turning in the lock, Dana Scully squared her shoulders. Her call, that had prompted this arrival, had been initiated as a request to her partner give her the time to think this through. But, being who he was, he had headed out of Apartment 42 at the first trill of his cell phone. No matter. Her decision had been taken even before her brothers had finished offering her their ‘compromise.’ The tall agent, solemn concern radiating from his entire being, had closed and locked the door before crossing the room to stand over her, so she lifted her face to meet his hazel eyes. “Mulder, thank you, but, it was really okay. You didn’t need to come rushing over here. You need to catch up on your sleep.”

His gaze drifted down to the short stack of papers resting precisely in the center of her otherwise bare white coffee table. “What’s this, Scully?” He bent to turn them around. The two-line banner read, ‘Children’s Hospital of the King’s Daughters,’ above, ‘Application for Employment,’ below. He balled the pages up, then launched them across the room into the kitchen. There, they rolled in an irregular track over the white tiles to come to a rest in front of the refrigerator. After spinning three turns around the sofa, he dropped into her tan overstuffed chair. “This was their idea of meeting you halfway.” Still furious, he crossed his arms. 

As she stared at the space where the papers had been, she nodded. “Of course. Their idea of a proper medical specialty for a woman. I heard from both of them, that now I had ‘conquered’ the Bureau, it was time for me to move on to new challenges.” Sorrow pooling in her green-blue eyes, she met his gaze. “All I could think, as they rattled on and on about the many ways the institution was involved in the community and how I could improve it, was, how soon this whole charade would be over so we could head to the Guys and start them working on the tablet and the camera.” One check twitched. “As well as how much fun I had with you and Sandra last night, chattering about anything and everything. One day, I’ll be able to keep up with you two and your mental leaps. I don’t have to hide who I am with you or her or Caroline or Max.” 

He regarded her soberly. “Scully, you should never hide who you are. Even if the people you’re with don’t want to hear it.” 

“Thank you, Mulder.” She held his gaze for a long moment. “Or, how wonderful it felt to be sitting with Rosen and Nichols, Director Skinner, and the SDPD, finally making headway on the Shadows. I even found myself thinking about how much I would have enjoyed throwing popcorn and robots at that silly old Hammer Studios film with you and the Guys. But they kept grinding along, Mom sitting there like a statue, not saying a word, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I thanked them kindly for the offer, told them I would consider it, and shooed them out the door. It’s too late to head over to the Guys, so I called you. I just needed to hear a friendly voice for a little while.” 

At the sight of red lines pulsing through the gauze on her left arm, he shifted to sit beside her on her right. “Scully, you didn’t have time to put your sling back on, and now you’re bleeding again. Didn’t they even notice? Don’t they care?” 

She leaned into the fingers clutching her right shoulder. “No. They didn’t even ask. They just looked at each other, and I’m sure are probably blaming you all the way back to Annapolis. It doesn’t matter to them that each medical specialty is just that, a specialty, with its own requirements and certifications. They might as well have found me an oncology hospital for all my experience matters for that application. It was just anything to get me out of the Bureau while offering the pretense that they respected my need to be gainfully employed.” She flexed her bound fingers carefully. “I’ve made up my mind, Mulder.” 

He dropped his hand to the couch. “Scully, they can’t-” 

Seeing the fear creeping back into his hazel eyes, she offered what reassurance she could. “Mulder, don’t fret, please, not over this. They’ll never have another sister. They can’t change that, unless the Shadows hand one of them an infant clone of me to raise to be ‘their type’ of fecund and submissive domestic female. Eventually, I hope they’ll come to understand people are more than slots on a duty roster, especially if they leave the Navy and find civilian employment. But, the Bureau is where I belong.” Her clear certainty prompted a crooked grin. “I’m not going anywhere. I refuse to be ‘fixed’ because there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with me.” 

He leaned toward her. “But, Mrs. Scully-” 

The auburn brows drew together. “Mom feels trapped, I’m sure. That’s the one thing I regret, that it’ll be some time before I can get in contact with her. I’ll speak with Director Skinner when he gets in tomorrow and see if we can put her under discreet surveillance.” 

He nodded. “That State Department security may not be sufficient. Scully?” 

She had been shaking her head. “Mom’s not at the Donovan’s anymore.” 

He found his feet. “What? She didn’t go back home, did she?” 

The diminutive pathologist studied her knees before she raised her gaze to meet his. “No, She’s staying with Bill and Liz until the new baby comes, probably for a few months afterward.”

He settled beside her again. “She told you this?” 

A long sigh as she leaned forward. “No, Bill did. He didn’t even look at her when he said it. If we were treating this as one of our cases, it would be as if I was seeing a coup played out in front of my eyes.” 

Throwing both arms along the back, he sprawled against the cushions. “Mutterrecht oder Fatterrecht.” 

One cheek quirked. “Well, perhaps not quite so universal, Johann, but, certainly in Bill’s mind. He’s done being polite and waiting for Mom and me to recognize his headship of the family.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Charlie came up with the job application, I’m sure.” She straightened from her crouch before shifting to face him directly. “Now, if I can impose on you again before you go home, Mulder?” 

Reaching for her back, he sent her a lop-sided grin. “All you want, Scully, anytime you want.” As he touched a depression in her shoulder, his thick eyebrows drew together. “Hey, how did you?” 

She tossed her head. “Front closure, Mulder. That’s why I didn’t get my sling on before Bill started pounding on the door.” 

“Ah.” The darkening hazel followed her as she rose to walk back to her bedroom.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East  
Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Monday, June 22, 1998  
1:12 pm

“Thank you, Sir. That helps put my mind at ease.” Dana Scully pushed herself out of the left chair in front of Walter Skinner’s desk. 

“Certainly, Agent Scully. For once, we have sufficient resources to execute such plans.” The Assistant Director’s dark eyes canted toward the lean form in the doorway. “Agent Mulder?” 

“Sir.” Mulder offered a nod as he strode over to his partner. “Thank you for offering your experience in our discussions with Agent Shiffeln. That may prove invaluable.” 

Ginger curls bobbed. “Despite what you might think, Sir, you passed along several pieces of information we did not already have.”

The bald man leaned back in his chair. “So, is Rob ready to make a decision?” 

The tall agent shook his head. “Not yet, Sir. We’re on our way to speak with our experts right now.” He held his hand toward the entrance, waiting for his partner to step ahead of him.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Monday, 1:57 pm

Byers peered through the spy-hole of the door. “It’s them. They’re back.” 

Langly was padding toward the computer lab. “Good thing I just finished decoding that first file, then. Let me get some results up on the screen for the Doc.” 

“Glad they’re both safe.” The round-faced Gunman set his broadest grin in place. “Dana?” He stepped toward the agents as they entered. 

Mulder mouthed, “Don’t fuss,” over his partner’s head. 

Frohike dismissed the warning with a wave of a gloved hand. 

Scully glanced from one to the other. “Frohike, it’s nothing.” She held the case with the tablet and camera in front of his glasses. “We brought you more puzzles.” 

Byers sighed. “We do have a publication to get out, you know. When do Pendrell and Phillips get back from their vacation in Paradise?” 

“Three weeks.” Scully’s response ended with a slight chuckle. 

“Open it.” Mulder pointed at the case. 

The bearded Gunman flipped the latches, the impulse popping up the side. “What is this?” He lifted out the tablet. “Where did you get this?” He looked from Mulder to Scully. 

“From the effects of a woman we believe was a double agent, working for both the American and Japanese Organizations.” She tapped the black unit. “When that was operating, it appeared to be a voice-activated translation tablet for messages encoded using the shape-shifters’s speech.”

Langly joined the group. “Doc, G-man! Every visit is like Christmas with you guys. That’s so far ahead of any computer miniaturization we have. That’s incredible.” He peered into the case. “This CCD unit looks large, with this sidecar chassis attached. The goodies are probably in there.” 

Mulder crossed his arms. “There may be something in the last few images recorded that would explain a U.S. Marshal’s death. Can you read it out?” 

The round-faced Gunman shook his head. “I’d be surprised if there was much stored on-board. Usually that model is just to stream images to a remote location.” He followed Byers and Langly back into the computer lab, the agents behind the three. 

Byers slid an elastic strap, connected to a blue anti-static pad by a coiled cord, over his wrist before positioning the tablet in the center of the sticky plastic. He tapped the back. “Looks metric.” 

Langly pressed his left index finger into the grounding pad before reaching into a nearby toolkit with his right hand. “Here, try this.” He was holding a black jeweler’s star-headed screwdriver.

The others watched as Byers swiveled off eight matching screws. 

The auburn-haired pathologist exhaled slowly. “It looks like our luck is still holding, Mulder.” The partners exchanged a glance.

He cocked his head. “What are you telling me, Scully?” 

The bearded Gunman pointed to the hole in the internal circuit board. “Whoever designed the fail-safe didn’t understand the layout. The memory and CPU are set out down below the connector to the display screen, so they obliterated the part of the unit passing neither signal nor power.” He settled on a tall work-stool. “Let me read out the power requirements and we should be able to get information off the silicon.” He toggled a lever on the back of a network analyzer. 

Scully turned to her partner. “Even if a few of the data storage chips are damaged, we should be able to reconstruct the content from the checksums.”

He held up both hands. “Guys, before you lapse completely into Greek.”

“Geek!” his partner and the Gunmen interrupted happily. 

“Whatever. I have to ask, how far have you gotten with the files we sent you?” 

The long-haired Gunman swiveled the monitor. “What does this look like to you, Doc?” 

She settled onto a work stool, rubbing her bandaged shoulder as she studied the Hexdump of one of the files. “These are DNA sequences. *Terrestrial* DNA sequences.” Her green-blue eyes rolled at Mulder’s snort. “Four distinct numbers, repeated randomly, not six.” A finger ran under one line. “But what I can’t understand is why these are in eight bits. That’s not very efficient storage.” She looked over at her partner. “It only takes two bits to encode the numbers zero through three digitally. A simple C program would let them shift and pack up the data, then unpack it at the other end. Additionally, it would look like ordinary binary numbers at first examination. Hunh.” She shook her head. “This is the second technical shortfall by the Japanese.” She paused, remembering the intricacy of the chip removed from her neck. “I wonder what’s going on here.” 

Langly scrolled through the file. “Yeah, but, not everybody’s a crack programmer, Doc. Some people just blindly use computers. Not like us.” The Agent and Gunman exchanged gleeful grins. “Plus, get a load of this.” He tapped an eighteen byte sequence. 

She nodded. “Data tags, probably Japanese.”

Mulder bent over her. “What makes you say that?”

She twisted to face him. “Latin characters can be encoded in seven bits if needs be, but Japanese has well over 256 unique symbols, so it takes two or more bytes for each symbol. It’s easy to tell that we’re crossing byte boundaries because the most significant bit is set to one in almost every other byte. So, we may be seeing Japanese equivalents of test subject names, or Japanese representations of species names. They’re not using binomial nomenclature because that could be handled without the full eight bits for the more common animal species that are named with Latinate and Greek forms of words.” 

They were nose to nose, now. 

The tall agent was focused, his eyes laser-intense. “Why would they be anything other than test subjects, who were, so far as we know, all human?” 

She rubbed her shoulder again. “You’re probably right, Mulder, but we don’t yet know the full scope of any of these organization’s activities. If Doctor Berube was working with simians, others may have been as well. It could just as easily be a catalog of existing DNA sequences for reference.” 

Beginning to pace, he shook his head. “But a simple catalogue of existing species wouldn’t be worth all this cloak and dagger.” 

She stepped into his path. “It might well be, Mulder. Remember how few species scientists in the West have sequences for. The film archive in the underground structure in Africa was for human DNA, extensive, but, still, only for Homo sapiens sapiens. A encyclopedic species genetic catalogue would be a staggeringly significant database for study for many purposes.” She glanced over at the screen. “We’ve both speculated about human-great ape hybrids in the past. This may lead us to proof.” 

“Hey, guys, check this out!” Frohike had the side-bar chassis to the camera removed, the cover tossed casually off the anti-stat pad. 

Mulder stepped back so Scully could walk over ahead of him. 

“Looks like this has added on-board storage after all.” Frohike pointed with a #1 Phillips screwdriver at the bulky disk drive mounted inside. 

She gripped the edge of the worktable to ground herself. 

The round-faced Gunman pulled out a stool for her. “This unit has really been enhanced. They had a stripped-down CPU and memory to control the buffering and a monster fan to cool the disk.” 

Holding her curls back with her right hand, she inspected the electronics closely. “Yes. A custom-compiled Linux kernel is probably running in the on-board RAM here. There’s a rechargeable battery to keep it powered continuously. All it would have to do is keep feeding frames out for off-site storage before this twelve gig disk filled up.” 

The round-faced Gunman had been watching her studying the interior of the box, his eyes glowing behind the wire-framed glasses. “That’s smokin’, Agent Scully.” He sent her a slightly predatory grin, but sobered at the shake of her tall partner’s head. 

She straightened, then met the gazes of the men on either side of her. “At a surveillance rate of one to two frames per second, there may be several hours of video to go through.” 

Mulder cocked his head at her. “So, scenes of San Diego in glorious technicolor?” 

The little Gunman was practically gleeful. “Not at all! Composite video would eat up too much disk space. This’ll be pure Welles.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear with her unbound fingers. “I think I should go work with Langly. If there are species names, I may recognize them faster.” 

Her partner took her place, then waved at the screen. “Each to what we do best, then.” 

Scully quirked her lips. “Where’s a Japanese-English dictionary when you need one?” 

He responded with a smirk. “Why, with the wonders of the Web, would we still have to look that up in hardback books?” 

Once the auburn-haired agent had disappeared behind the wall, Frohike grabbed the tall man’s shoulder. “Okay, Mulder, I didn’t fuss, so, spill, why is she swathed from her palm all the way up over her left shoulder?” 

The hazel darkened. “An assassination attempt in a parking garage, Fro. Fortunately, they tried to hit her while the Taurus was spinning, or else...” He stared down at the green cables snaked between the camera and the monitor. “They weren’t after me. I was out of the car, on my feet, and standing still shortly before they got her. Oswald could have made that shot. She still doesn’t believe it, but, I’m not letting her out of my sight until we have some closure on the assassin. We had him, with enough physical evidence to lock him up for the rest of his life, then the Smoker snatched him back.” He checked for her auburn hair, just visible through the doorway as she was scribbling on a pad of paper, then tapping the glass with the cap end of the pen, while the long-haired Gunman nodded. “She can take care of herself, I know-”

“She’ll never let you forget it, either.” Both men exchanged small grins. 

“-but it was like they were predicting our behavior, just lying in wait for us. There was no way they could have just been following us. There wasn’t time for them to get set up in place. Neither of us can go it alone with that level of planning on their part. I just got my sister back. I couldn’t-” The dark-haired agent’s face colored. 

The gloved hand tightened. “Then let’s see what these images show, alright?”

\--o-0-o--

John Byers leaned back from the workbench. “Okay, guys, I think we’re there.” He waited until the others had gathered. Clip lead in hand, he pointed at the monitor he had set up beside the tablet. “I’ve traced the output signal, so this will show what the screen would have. When I attach this lead, it’ll be just as if the unit were fully operational. How did you know there was shape-shifter speech involved?”

Mulder extracted his cell phone. “What was that number again?” He looked to his partner.

After tugging free a small notepad from her backpack, she reached over his arm to key in the digits, then he hit the dial button. A series of squeaks and whistles sounded in the room. The monitor started to display Hiragana and Katakana, top to bottom, right to left, as before. 

“Get a picture,” Mulder commanded. “That box will want a password here in-” 

Several Katakana characters blinked on the screen, then the cursor waited. After several flashes of the Polaroid, Scully again spoke the password, but nothing happened. “Did the unit save the password in protected memory, I wonder?”

Byers frowned. “What, no good?” 

Mulder shook his head. “The site we were supposed to be accessing took itself off-line as we were downloading the files you have over there. I’m surprised the number we called was still sending data.” 

The auburn-haired agent gripped, then released, her partner’s elbow. “That means there are more operatives out there who haven’t been notified of our hack. Once they are, it’ll go dead, too.” 

The tall agent turned to her. “Any luck?” 

Scully nodded. “I’ve not translated any names yet, but the lengths are suggestive: ten bytes, fourteen bytes, all under twenty so far.” 

He bit his lower lip. “You’re most likely right that it’s common species names, Scully. At two bytes each, it’s too short for a full human name in English or Japanese, which they would have needed for tracking with all the test subjects they were using.” He looked down at her slender waist as her stomach rumbled loudly. 

“Sorry.” She waved her free hand at him. “Let me get back to the files.” 

Byers disconnected himself from the anti-static pad. “Hey, no, it’s nearly six. I’m assuming you two skipped lunch today?” 

The partners exchanged a nod, but said nothing. 

Langly ambled into the kitchen. “Okay, let’s see what it will be tonight.” He returned with several take-out menus. “Greek, Italian, Chinese, Vietnamese, or Indian?” 

“Indian works for me.” The auburn-haired pathologist slid to her feet. 

After settling on, then placing, their orders, Frohike smiled. “Nothing so far from the camera and we have several hours of downloading to go. We have the projector and screen still set up, Mulder. We can kick back while we wait and eat.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at his partner, who, to his delight, nodded. “Samosas and satanic dinosaurs, here we come.” He found himself unable to stop grinning.

\--o-0-o--

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Tuesday, June 23, 1998  
4:32 am

Fox Mulder turned to his sleeping partner. “Hey, Scully, check this out!” She had pulled one of the armchairs into the space behind the video monitor, where she had curled into a ball against the high back. He tugged the thick white cotton of her over-sized left sock, hanging loosely from her toes, to shake her foot gently. 

After a long breath, she opened one green-blue eye to gauge the excitement in his tone, then sat upright. “What do you have, Mulder?” 

He was bouncing happily on the tall stool. “After you zoned out, Doctor, I watched through the rest of the stored video as it was being read off.” 

She rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. “So you finally got to the end of the images?” 

He nodded. “I got Fro to help start the program.” _You’re beat, Scully, it’s okay._ “You fell asleep so fast, neither of us wanted to wake you.” 

She cocked her head. “Mulder, that wouldn’t have been a problem. I wrote some of that code.” 

He grinned broadly. “Now that we have the last few minutes of imagery, you’ll see.” He played through the remaining frames. 

“Mulder, stop. Let me have the keyboard.” She rose to stand in front of the workbench, where she opened an X Window. After typing several lines of code, she keyed out several commands he failed to recognize, then ‘:wq’. “This will let us zoom, a bit. It won’t be as good as an analogue video editor, but, it will have to do.” 

His chin was grazing the cotton shoulder of her polo shirt. “So, that area-” He rapped on the glass over the final video frame, still up on the screen, with his knuckle. “-you can blow that up?” 

She clicked several keys, then a different window appeared. “This is digital imagery, so we’ll eventually get pixelated, but, before that, we should still be able to make out details.” 

He grunted. “It’s Amanda Edwards, Scully, and Luther, and, who’s that? The guy with the straight black hair?” His nose was nearly on the screen. “Can you make it any bigger?” 

She let out a choked gasp. “I know him.” She reversed through the frames. “There, he faces the camera and points.” Her right hand shaking, she activated the digital zoom, then jumped back as if struck. “He was there. In the warehouse. He was there.” 

Mulder bent over his partner, who was hugging herself. “Scully?” He reached around to steady her with a hand on her spine. “Scully, talk to me.” 

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then gazed up at him. “He was a technician. He was the one who administered most of the tests.” She was rubbing her forehead. “His name. I heard his name so many times. But, I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” 

He eased her into the armchair, then took her right hand in his left to rub the back with his right palm as he knelt in front of her. “It’s okay. You’ll get it, just give it a few minutes.” He watched her eyes moving back and forth under closed lids. “It’s okay.” He wondered, briefly, whether he would need to regress her again. 

But, she straightened her shoulders before speaking, her voice quiet, her tone distant. “Mister Saito. Even the doctors called him Mister.” Her green-blue eyes popped open. “Nothing else. No first name.” She leaned forward. “But, there was something else.” Her auburn brows drew together. “He limped. One shoe, his, um, right, had a thickened sole, as if the legs were different lengths. I could only stare down, and I never wanted to see those shoes approaching me.” 

Fighting back the anger and anxiety coursing through him, the tall agent grasped her unbound shoulder. “You’re okay, Scully. You’re okay.” Then, he was on his feet, his hand held toward the monitor. “Now we have something to go on.” 

She rose to return to the video, playing through several frames. “It’s he.” She rapped the screen. “See, there, see how much he wobbles, frame to frame. It’s tough to make out because we’re not running at video speed, but, he’s limping still.” 

His fingers landed on her spine. “This is good enough to put out a ‘Wanted by’ notice. We’ll have Nichols alert the airports and harbors there for the few weeks prior and following Tapping’s death.” 

Focused now, she nodded. “We won’t have to consult with Pierce on this, at least immediately. The association with my kidnapping-” She paused as the long fingers curled around her side unconsciously. “-is sufficient for a justification.”

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices / X-Files West Offices  
FBI Washington Field Office / FBI San Diego Field Office  
Washington, DC / San Diego, CA  
Tuesday, 11:57 am / 8:57 am

Click. Dana Scully rolled the last BNC connector in place before checking to her left. Langly, the oversized headphones clamping his long blond hair over his ears, threw her a single nod, then she tapped three keys. An image grew behind the glass. 

“You getting this?” Nichols’s unmistakable gravel boomed through the office. 

Mulder leaned in front of the camera. “Yeah, we are. You?” 

Rosen’s mezzo floated out next. “Yes, everything seems to be working.” 

The blond Gunman responded from his curl in one of the Director’s boxy visitor’s chairs. “Remember to keep an eye on the interference monitor. That’ll be our first indication someone’s trying to listen in.” He frowned at the laptop screen. “Okay, yak away, G-folk. Let’s give this puppy a ride.” 

Mulder fiddled with the base of the CCD, turning the lens a bit more to face him. He ignored the frustrated sighs from his partner and the Gunman. 

“Wide-angle, G-man.” Langly clenched, then opened, a fist. 

The dark-haired agent spoke to the image on the screen. “Tapping caught Amanda Edwards and Luther meeting with a Japanese operative, Saito, which is why he was killed. Saito was involved in Scully’s abduction, so we’re treating this as a Bureau matter for a couple of days. If we can present a fait accompli to Pierce, so much the better. We’re sending encrypted compressed images in an E-mail so you can put out travel alerts on the guy.”

A single rumble emerged first. “You feeling okay, there, Chief? That’s a lot of Scully words I hear.” 

“Sheah, tell me about it.” He sent his partner a smirk. “More to come, though. The files we downloaded were DNA sequences, of common species, so the Doctor here tells me.” 

‘You mean t’ tell me that’s it?” Shiffeln’s slightly nasal question had the East Coast members of the X-Team smiling, including Walter Skinner, who had been working quietly at his desk during the set-up and communications testing. “Then, I know what I’m gonna do, you Big Cheeses out there.” 

Now, the bald Director, who had watched over the top of his lenses while the gleaming surface of his spotless, scuff-free conference table was laden with cables, test equipment, and three separate computers, felt compelled to join the discussion. “So, Rob, what are you going to do?” 

“Once we’re done wit’ the background reviews, I’m quittin’ the Bureau. You said it yourself, Walt, they can access my personnel file anytime they want. It’ll take a lotta background months before we can make this collar. I’m goin’ to join a few of these Earth Firster groups, do some protestin’ of the alien menace. That way it’ll look right when I apply for one of them Consortium jobs. Better benefits than the Bureau, for all it matters to me. One trip east to go over the documents you guys have wit’ you, pick your brains for what I need to know, then I’ll resign. Get things moving.”

“Hey, Langly, I’m starting to see some activity.” Rosen frowned at the displayed traces. “Should we shut the session down?” 

“No, let me check this.” He tapped a few keys, then waved to the auburn-haired agent. “Doc, try that second encryption algorithm of yours. Let’s see how it works.” He leaned toward the microphone. “You got that, Rosen?” 

“Yes, two encryption levels?” 

Several clicks from the Dell on the conference table. “How about now?” 

“Yeah, that did it.” The brunette astronomer sounded much relieved. “What do you think it means?” 

“We’re being traced, but it’s not Lady Lovelace.” Langly opened a different window. “Running tracking software right now.” He dropped out of his curl. “That’s got it.” His eyes rolled back and forth behind the glasses. “Okay, Bonn. That’s where the call originated.” 

“So, the Europeans are showing their hand.” Scully looked over at her partner. “It was only a matter of time before they did.” She turned to the long-haired Gunman. “We’ll have to institute randomized encryptions to keep them off-guard.”

Langly nodded. “Let me take this back to the nest and we’ll tweak the codes.” He crossed the room to lean over the table. “You got that?” 

Nichols huffed. “Sure do. We have the E-mail, according to Ros, so we’ll let you know Rob’s schedule when we can do so safely. Sure hope you bright boys and girls get this working. It’s easier than stuffing ourselves in flying sardine cans.”

“I hear that.” Mulder agreed. “We’re signing off now?” He checked the faces in the room, seeing only nods. “Okay, signing off.” 

His jacket draped precisely evenly over the back of his chair, the bald Director was standing in his shirtsleeves at the head of the conference table as the screen went dark. “So, how long will all this have to sit here?” 

Langly shook his head, emptying his mind of Walter Skinner’s lean silhouette. “We’ll clear most of it off for today. If the G-man can excise the stacks on his table, we can move operations in there. This was just convenient.” 

The dark-haired man chuckled. “Finally, there’s a downside to all that cleanliness and godliness, Sir.” 

The Assistant Director merely cocked an eyebrow at his agent as the pathologist and the Gunman began breaking down the systems.

\--o-0-o--

S. Dillon Ripley Center  
Smithsonian Institution  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, 6:33 pm

Dana Scully glanced back at the line forming behind her. “I had expected a lecture at a University, not this.” The persons standing were, for the most part, well-dressed professionals, some retired, some close. There were two brown tables set up, with two women at each waiting to take or sell tickets. A tall man with thinning red hair wearing a grey tweed suit stepped up to one of the women, who nodded, then pointed at the waiting agents. 

Mulder offered a lop-sided grin. “Wilson?” He extended his hand. “How much do you stand to make off this gig?” 

A quiet smile appeared under the ginger mustache. “More than you think, if I sell some books.” He grasped the long fingers gladly, then clapped Mulder on the back. “Fox, you didn’t have to come to this. We could have met up for dinner afterward.” 

The tall agent stepped back. “Just wanted to see how you were entertaining the masses.” He held his arm toward the diminutive woman. “This is my partner at the FBI, Doctor Dana Katherine Scully, forensic pathologist. Scully, this is Doctor Wilson Reginald Russell Thornton, Senior Lecturer in Early Modern History, Christ Church.” 

She shook the extended hand firmly. “Good to meet you, Sir.” 

Thornton tossed a glance at Mulder. “Sir? What have you been telling her? You two make me sound respectable, almost.” One of the women was tapping his shoulder. “Sorry, that’s my cue. Wait for me afterward, alright?” 

As the agents made their way to seats in the front, Scully leaned toward her partner. “So, he threw the R.R. around a lot?” 

Bending over her, he chuckled. “In every pub we visited.” 

She cocked her gaze up at him. “You don’t seem like a pub-crawler, Mulder.” 

Suddenly serious, he pointed to her seat. “Had to do something after Phoebs. But, beer is savored across the Pond. They even bring the kids. Not like here.” They lowered spring-mounted cushions, then settled in. 

She considered this nugget of self-revelation as they waited. As much as Phoebe Green had tormented her partner for her own amusement, their relationship, if it could be called that, would have provided a steady human connection for the quiet, sober boy-man she imagined would have shown up at Oxford. _Especially after that childhood from hell._ She shifted a fraction of an inch closer to a muscled arm, prompting a similar motion on his part, after a swift grin was wafted down at her. 

Once the auditorium had quieted, Thornton stepped up to the lectern, activated the projector, then began. “Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasons, Order of the Rosy Cross, Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, and so many other names are familiar to you from countless movies and novels. But, what is the real story behind all these secret societies and clandestine gatherings?” 

Mulder bent close to Scully’s ear. “Here we go...”

\--o-0-o--

S. Dillon Ripley Center  
Smithsonian Institution  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, 9:47 pm

“Thank you, glad you enjoyed it.” Thornton scrawled his name on the frontispiece, wrapping the signature around the head of his portrait, then shook the hand of a tiny woman in a black dress, before he turned to Mulder. “See, not so bad. If you’d stayed for your PhD, you could be on the lecture circuit yourself, Fox.” 

The tall man sent a broad grin to his partner before shaking his head. “Yeah, liver-eating mutants and flukemen will bring’em running.” 

Thornton turned to the auburn-haired agent. “So, what’s your specialty again, Doctor Scully?” 

One cheek creased. “I’m a forensic pathologist, Sir.” 

The red-haired man bent over her. “Now, let’s stop this Sir nonsense, alright? You make me feel like my father. Just call me Wilson, or, Wil, if you prefer.” 

She tucked her chin. “Thank you. I didn’t want to presume.” 

Thornton turned to Mulder. “What about a quick bite, hum?” 

The tall agent shook his head. “DC is an early-bird town, Wilson, not like London. But, if we could twist your arm, we have something we’d like to discuss with you outside, if you don’t mind.” 

“Ah. Let me get my notes and take care of a few essentials.”

Once the three were settled on the benches in front of the pink granite palazzo that is the Freer Gallery, Scully slipped the strap of the laptop case off her right shoulder, rested the bag on the slats beside her, unzipped it, lifted the computer screen, then logged in. “What do you know about this organization?” She rotated the unit so he could read the windowed text. 

Thorton’s eyes widened. “Them?” His green eyes met each of theirs in turn. “You have information on them?” He shifted the laptop to his knees, then began scrolling. “How?” He lost himself in reading for several minutes. Setting the black machine down in the case, he rubbed his eyes. “That amount of insider knowledge. Where did you find this? This is a lifetime’s of study.” 

Mulder rested his elbows on his knees. “My Dad, actually. Apparently, he was close to the inner circle.” 

The red-haired man leaned closer. “Oh, Fox, he wasn’t one of the Forty themselves, was he?” 

Scully shook her head. “No, but he was one step removed. According to the encrypted notes he left, he was an Atrebates. He also had a rising sun tattoo with twenty straight rays on his inside right wrist. He worked with a woman named Christina Knox, who was from Gdansk.” 

Thornton chewed his lower lip. “She was the Slav, then.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but from what little I know, each member of the Forty was named for a specific ethnic group, either from Europe or a part of the former Empire. They passed themselves off as universalists, representative of all humanity, but, that was before genetics started being researched. You’ve heard of the Cenél nÓengusa family of schools?” 

Mulder nodded. “That’s a charity of theirs?” 

The red-haired man held up both hands. “They do good work, but not hospitals like the Shriners. They emphasize setting up education and family centers all over the Third World, but, they’re exceptionally reclusive. They have a long past, older than the Freemasons, but they make no real effort to recruit followers. Instead, they make and enlist allies for support, and, from what I can tell, in very, very high places.” He waved down the Mall toward the Capitol dome, as the last of the nautical twilight illuminated it, then the spotlights began glowing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t have contacts over there, even.” He touched the laptop. “Could I possibly get a copy of this?” 

Scully tried to reach for an inner flap with her left hand, then hissed. “Sorry. We brought a CD set in case you wanted one. We’re trying to spread the information we acquired to as many interested parties as possible. We don’t want to go fully public until we understand how reliable these data are.” 

“Let me, Agent Scully.” Thornton slid the enclosed disks out. “This is amazing. This is just amazing.” He tucked the sleeves in his briefcase. “Better than dinner.” 

Mulder grinned. “We can still do that, too. I know just the place.” He reached across his partner to fold away the laptop, then enclose it in its bag.

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
FBI Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Thursday, June 25, 1998  
8:41 am

“So, that’s what I think we need to go over with Shiffeln when he arrives tomorrow.” Mulder added the last folder to the stack. 

Dana Scully, the pristine white shell loose over her charcoal grey slacks and flats, was perched carefully on a wooden chair in front of her partner’s desk. “I think we had only half of those materials when I set Rosen up to read through the X-Files, the D’Amato papers, and that reconstructed document, Mulder. Director Skinner will add his own observations, of course, but we’ll have Shiffeln ready for his undercover assignment once he works his way through all these.” She rubbed the gauze over her shoulder. Her partner was still in his black jacket and long-sleeved white button-down shirt, but her right arm were bare, so she shivered slightly in the air conditioning. “Plus, we’ll have assembled the materials we’ll need Bill Stickle to review when he joins us after Fourth of July.” 

He leaned back to cross his ankles on the desktop. “Might be good to hand them to Pendrell and Phillips when they get back on the thirteenth.” 

The auburn-haired agent nodded. “It looks like we’ve started assembling our training manual for new X-Files agents.” She shifted the chair to the left with her feet. “Sorry, right under a duct. I can’t check with Mister ap Gwinn until the fifteenth.” 

He was playing with the pencils on his desk. “So, looks like we can take a little down-time in a couple of weeks ourselves, Scully.” 

She leaned forward. “You’ve found something?” Her eagerness prompted a quick tweak of his lips. 

He shrugged. “My usual sources have gone dark on me.” His eyes traveled unconsciously to the NICAP hat on the coat rack. 

She twisted on the chair, then, with a tiny sigh, rose to settle into her Father’s recliner, tucking herself into a tight ball. “Nothing on the wires? No serial killers who hear commands from the trees?” 

He shook his head. 

“No multiplex projectionist who control magnetic fields with his mind?” 

He was grinning. “Now, you’re just making stuff up, Scully.” 

“Then, Mulder, let *me* suggest a destination.” 

His feet dropped to the floor. “You want me to take Sandra to Santorini, don’t you?” 

She sent him one of her full-wattage smiles. “Of course, Mulder. Caroline must be beside herself with anticipation, don’t you think?” 

He fiddled with the stack of folders they had just assembled. “Yeah, I do. Sandra’s working on papers, but she’s not teaching any summer session classes, she told us at dinner. If we don’t take the time, we won’t have it. The Shadows will throw some new scheme at us, or those field-altering projectionists of yours will appear, or we’ll discover that the Forty secretly manipulated the League of Nations so that it collapsed, and the opportunity will be gone. Mom’s not getting any younger, either.” 

She slid off the recliner to lean on the desk beside him. “You were already considering this, weren’t you? Even before I brought it up?” 

His expression deeply somber, he focused up on her face. “Yeah, Scully, I was, but, it’s not right to dump everything on you and take off.” His gaze canted toward her bandages. “Not now, not ever, and certainly not anymore.”

She turned to rest her right hand on his shoulder. “Mulder, this is the time for your family to be together, as much as you can. I appreciate your concern, I do, but I’ll be fine. We’re only talking a couple of weeks, not months, like before. How much work could there be?” She settled back on the wooden chair. “Give Sandra a call. She must have been thinking about this, too. Make specific arrival and departure dates so this doesn’t grow out of all proportion. It’ll make it easier for Caroline and Max. They were such gracious hosts with me, but they were really tired by the end, I could tell. As you said, they’re no spring chickens anymore.” 

_We all just wanted you to be well, Scully._ He walked around the desk to lean against it, then curl over her. “You’ll be okay, really?” The question fell into a near whisper at the end.

She flexed her left hand. “The physical therapy has kept the muscles from atrophying too much as I healed. In a week or so, I’ll stop being Queen Hatshepsut's mummy, Mulder, and I’ll be spending time at the shooting range, getting requalified with my weapon. When you get back, that Mesmerist projectionist will have to watch out.” She reached out to pat his fingers, hooked over the thick edge of the battered desktop.

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Sunday, June 28, 1998  
12:01 pm

The forty ebony chairs, in four rows of ten, were each, but one, entwined with corn poppies and daisies. The curtains over the windows of the Suola had been drawn back, so bright summer light flooded the paneled chamber. The seat of the Riata still bore its chalk banner, but broad fans of roses, lilies, thistles, daisies, corn poppies, heather, cornflowers, irises, among many others, lined the walls, one variety for each homeland of each group in the Forty.

A slight woman in a long white robe knelt on the top step of the platform, a crown of daisies and corn poppies in her greying hair. The Forty, in their black robes, were all standing. Between the vases, the Quaestores Parricidi, the Atrebates for the members of the Fellowship who used them, and the other secondary officials of the Ekklesia watched. Having concluded a ritual progression through the seven ages of man, this part of the ceremony, unlike the staging in the preceding, required the participation of only the Brothers and Sisters. 

Deeply engrossed in the details, the Cymru was carrying a burning taper from sconce to sconce, lighting herb-scented candles that flickered with the motion in the Suola. The wall of honor was ablaze with lights, one for each of the recent members no longer visible. “We are many, we are One,” he intoned as each flame sprang into life. The assembly echoed him. Once he had circled the space, he lit a large white candle on the lectern, then extinguished the taper. 

The Pict stepped forward. “This is a joyous time for the Fellowship.” He held out a hand toward the kneeling woman. “The Slav is with us once more!” 

General applause erupted, bouncing off the oak walls. 

The Suebi stepped to the edge of the dais, next to the lectern. “Come, Precious Sister, take the Oath.” He unrolled the top of a scroll of parchment. “Before this Assembly, Seen and Unseen-” He paused, waiting for her echo. “-I pledge a sacred Vow that I, the Slav-” He fell silent through another pause and echo. “-will value and protect each human on the Earth, treating all as my beloved family, favoring none.” The Suebi gestured for her to rise after her repeat. “As I take my place among the Ekklesia, I seek, not privilege, but duty.” After her response, the Helvetti and the Danaan stepped off the platform. They held a long black brocade robe, the sleeves lined with velvet, behind the candidate, while she unbuttoned the white silk, letting it drop to the floor. When she was robed, the Suebi advanced the scroll. “This day, as I take on the vesta of the Fellowship, I take on the responsibilities of serving humanity with my whole heart, protecting our sheltering Earth, and keeping close my Sisters and Brothers in the Ekklesia.” The Assembly waited in silence for her echo. 

The Pict and the Mandarin took places on either side of the Suebi. Each extended a Sun brooch, the Pict’s with wavy rays in bronze, the Mandarin’s straight rays in silver. The Slav reached for the silver Sun, so the Mandarin pinned it to the right shoulder of the vesta. 

The Helvetii and Danaan each took a hand to lead the Slav to her seat. “We are many, we are One!” 

After the repeat of the Incantation, applause filled the air. The thirty-eight living members of the Forty lined up to greet their new Sister, each with a kiss on both cheeks and a ritual embrace. 

When all were seated once more, the Cymru and the Pict stepped back up on the dais, then the man with the Lion cane softly cleared his throat. “We bring great news.” 

“We have found the Riata!” The Cymru raised both arms. “On this Blessed Day, we bring news of her to you!” More applause filled the chamber, accompanied by excited whispers. The projector screen descended, then an image of a red-haired woman with green-blue eyes appeared. 

The Pict pointed the Celtic lion toward the face. “Our new Sister, if she will have us.” 

The Mughal rose. “What are your proofs, Brother?” 

ap Gwinn straightened. “She is descended from Óengus Mór mac Eirc; our records show it.” The whispers grew in insistence. “She is a medical Doctor and Agent of Justice in the American Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Scattered applause broke out. “She is an acclaimed leader of a growing group of Agents working to bring down the Shadow organizations formed at the end of the Second World War that oppose us, and that our Brother Suebi tracks with such diligence.” Voiced affirmation erupted around the room. “Her Atrebates is the son of the Atrebates of the Slav no longer visible.” The calls were accompanied by the stamping of feet. “I have met her, and she knew me, without a word being spoken, she knew me, knew who I am. These are my proofs. These are the witnesses of Time.” The applause was sustained, some of the Fellowship standing. 

The Aborigine strode forward to before the steps to the lectern. “Brothers and Sisters, you have heard the Proofs Novel, now let me give you the Proofs Ancient.” After pointing to the Pict and the Cymru, he raised both arms. “These two Brothers and I have ridden the currents of Time. We met the Riata there, saw the line running from the past through Her into the future. Three shall there be, this one, the one who is to come, and one who is not yet visible. All shall lead us forward on the path of Light our Sister, no longer visible, laid out for us. We are many, we are one!” The entire Assembly was standing, clapping and embracing.

\--o-0-o--

Along the back wall, Alex Krycek snarled, then pushed aside the scarlet hot-house tulip that had been brushing his grey cowl during the proceedings. _Not even the old men in Manhattan were this full of themselves._ He had formulated his plans, ones he hoped would bring down both organizations that would shunt him into lesser and demeaning roles, as well as casting discord among the FBI. So much for these garlands and celebrations. Let them rejoice now, suffer later. The Quaestor beside him turned, offering him a broad smile as he extended his hand. Krycek shook it, Roman style as the Suebi had shown him, then crossed his arms, while pretending the same delight he saw on all the faces around the room. _Soon enough, this would all be ash. Smoke and ash._

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 5 / Atlantis  
Alexandria, VA / Athinos City  
Tuesday, June 30, 1998 / Santorini, Greece  
3:57 am / 9:57 am

At the cordless phone’s first buzz, Dana Scully laid it on her ear. She had no doubt as to the caller. “Mulder? You there?” 

He sent her a delighted chuckle. “Yeah, we are, Scully. You alone?” He stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth, enjoying the freedom to tweak his serious partner from two oceans away. 

“Mulder? What did you think?” She frowned at the lilt in his voice.

_This is too easy._ “Oh, you wore Lars out, so he had to stagger home and recover?” 

She sat up, letting herself relax into a prolonged stretch. _He feels good. Things must be going well._ “How did you guess, G-man? I told him to be back in two hours if he wanted his full payment.” 

He released a gleeful snort. “He charges a fee, Doctor? He should consider it a privilege, reserved for only a few men, equally handsome, mysterious, and skilled.” He waggled his eyebrows at the air.

“Mulder!” She turned the pillows on end to lean against them. “So, how were the flights?” 

He parted the blinds on the sliding glass door. His sister and his mother were side by side at one of the glass tables, Sandra walking Caroline through some of her research by clicking on images and pdf’s on her laptop. He knew none of the details were being retained by the white-haired woman, who was wrapped in the joy of being able to sit with her arm around her long-lost daughter. Max had moved his chair behind the two to read intently over Sandra’s shoulder. He sighed. 

“Mulder?” 

He dropped the curtain back in place. “Good. Sandra was absolutely gleeful that she had as much uninterrupted time as she did. I’m pretty sure she didn’t sleep at all. She just wailed away at the texts of her papers. She’s worse than you are, Doctor.” 

An alto chuckle escaped her. “That, if nothing else, should tell you she’s really your sister, Mulder.” 

He snorted. “Sheah, right.” 

“How’s Caroline?” 

A lop-sided grin appeared. “She’s floating on air, Scully. I feel a little sorry for Max. He’s barely been able to get her attention since we arrived.” He flopped on the quilted spread of the double bed in his room, taking juvenile pleasure in the resulting creaks. 

“So, she’s probably not going to take a look at your Dad’s diaries until after you two leave?” 

“That’s what she said. Max was very understanding, but you can tell he’s not thrilled about having those CD’s lying around.” 

“You can’t blame him for that, after what all of you were put through, Max included. You can spend some time with him, now, especially as Sandra will be working for most of it, and I doubt Caroline will be anywhere but beside her.” 

Mulder dangled a long leg off the mattress to scuff his heel on the wool carpet by the bed. “I know. I did break through the Professor’s trance long enough to get her to agree to afternoons off. Otherwise she’d just work the days and nights away.” He twisted to gaze out the small window over his head. Through the clear Mediterranean air, he could view the black and green mountains behind Atlantis. “How are things there?” 

“You obviously haven’t had the chance to check your E-mail, have you? Nichols sent word that Saito was seen landing on a flight from Tokyo the day before Tapping’s death and leaving to return to Japan that evening.” 

He sighed. “Okay, it sounds like we should pack up the camera and send it and copies of the extracted video on to Pierce. If he pitches too much of a fit, tell him it was my idea. They’ll expect that from Spooky Mulder, no regard for rules or protocol.” 

“I had already told the Gunmen to send it along, but I’m not letting you take the fall alone, Mulder. We both agreed to that course of action. In other news, Shiffeln is almost set, I think. He’s running out of questions to ask, and is sketching more detailed timelines than he was before you left.” She crossed her legs under the covers, rearranging them over herself. “I don’t know what good they will do, but he sees it as trying out alternatives, so, Cynthia just keeps bringing him pads of paper and rolls of double-sided tape. What the Bureau requisitions will make of all that, we’ll find out. He’s covered the fronts of all the X-Files cabinets with his plans.” 

“Oh, so suddenly all my stacks of notes and slides don’t seem so strange?” He grinned. 

“Now, I wouldn’t go that far.” She smiled back, then sobered. “Hey, we can talk shop when you’ve had a couple of days to get over the jet lag, not that there’s much to talk about. Why don’t you hang up and go be with your Mom and your Sister, Mulder?” 

He waved his hand at the air. “Ah, Scully, I’d need you here if I did that. Sandra will start in with, ‘Now, the boundary layer urgle burgle rotational vorticity bing bing bleep,’ and I wish I had that shape-shifter decoder tablet. Things might make more sense then.” He arched his eyebrows as he nodded. 

The diminutive agent found herself unable to stop laughing. “Oh, Mulder.” 

He began chuckling, then let out a breathy snort. “Yeah, okay. Mealtimes are a bit of a chore, actually. Max is in full lawyer mode, peppering Sandra with questions, and she’s loving it. He’ll ask in a sentence I can more or less follow, then she’ll offer this paragraph that loses me, and they’ll keep going back and forth like that for an hour. Mom just can’t stop watching her. I sit there, feeling like a doof, not knowing how to get a word in that doesn’t sound like moron-speak.” 

The auburn-haired woman wrapped her bandaged arm around her stomach. “Agent Mulder, I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you actually complaining about your sister?” She was beaming as she issued the gentle tease. “See, this is what normal is like. Remember, I told you you’d get there, back in Bern, now, didn’t I?” 

He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah, yeah, Doctor you did. I’m gonna go for a swim. That, at least, I can still do better than she does.” 

“Mulder, in a couple of weeks, you’ll be the omniscient genius again, so fair is fair.” 

He began stepping out of his shoes. “Okay, message received. It’s time I took my lumps, I suppose. Talk to you later, Scully.” 

She sobered. “Enjoy yourself, Mulder. You’ll be floating on that pool, not worried at all about jostling starry-eyed tourists on the Metro on the way to work. Talk to you tomorrow.” She terminated the conversation, then settled in under the covers. _He sounds so genuinely happy._

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Monday, July 6, 1998  
10:37 am

Alex Krycek threw back the grey cowl. “Okay, this is why-” He rolled his dark eyes at the stern expressions on the faces of the men and woman seated in a line before him. “We are many, we are One.” He crossed his arms as the words lofted back to him. “-I gathered you here today. I know this woman you want to bring in to the Fellowship.” He found it hard to speak without a sneer. _Why do these ancients think they’re so entitled?_ “She won’t come willingly. I tried to tell him that.” The index finger was aimed at the Suebi, who was shaking his head. 

“Tribuno, I have already explained to you, this ritual that so fascinates you is not part of the Way of this Age. In centuries past, when so little was known of the human psyche, it was used. But, then, not even the flow of blood or the ovum was understood properly.” He stamped his foot twice. 

The Aborigine had never even taken a seat. “I have not foreseen the course this will take. I, who prefer the ways ancient, cannot sanction it.” His long, rolling gait carried him from the one end of the row of black chairs to the other. “It is as Brother Suebi has said. We know more and better ways, so we should use them. One who joins freely will be more closely bonded than one who is forced.” 

“I don’t care!” Krycek was utterly out of patience. “You can sanction it, or not, but it’s within the power of my office to require it.” He glared at the Mandarin. “Am I right? Hum?” 

The black silk shifted. “Sadly, yes, our laws give you this power. But, if you do this, I shall personally strip you of your station, Tribuno.” He stroked the long white beard. “Our power and laws are to be used for good, not for evil. We are pledged to value all humanity, in case you were not paying attention.” He nodded to the Helvetii, who sent him a soft smile in return.

The Cymru checked her face. “We don’t know that this step will even be necessary. She and I will be meeting in a little over a week. I will present our case to her then. We can delay our decision until that time.” The green eyes were aimed at the dark-haired man’s. “You will wait to invoke the powers of your office until afterward, Tribuno.” 

Krycek threw up his arms. “But, you people want her to join, don’t you? That will be for the good, yes? You don’t know her! She won’t do what you want! She never does! She was sent to spy on Mulder and immediately proceeded to take his side. She can’t be trusted. Why the old men agreed to let her live is beyond me!” 

“But, we *do* know her.” The Pict rubbed the Celtic lion with his thumb. “We know her past, present, and future. She is standing at a crossroads as we speak. With persuasion, we can move her onto the path of the Enlightened. Your way, she will remain as she is: an adept and devoted advocate for those who have been unfairly deprived of life, but, not all she could be. You, too, are being offered a new way, Tribuno. Forego your revenge and walk in the Light. You will live to see your grandchildren if you do so. Otherwise, you will cease to be visible well before your time.” 

The Helvetii rose, leaning on the bear as she did. “We are at an impasse, Brothers and Sisters. The Ekklesia is not complete, so we must bring the matter before the Consejo de i Diexe. They will decide our path. If they call for Gradus Absoluta, we must comply. We will make our case before them, Tribuno, and so will you. All must be according to our laws, or we are nothing.”

\--o-0-o--

Atlantis  
Athinos City  
Santorini, Greece  
Tuesday, July 14, 1998  
10:03 am

Fox Mulder settled into the ornate desk chair of his stepfather’s. Sandra had alerted him to this E-mail, so he could read it in here while she and Caroline were on their last short hike up a nearby mountain. Once he had taken his partner’s advice to relax, the two weeks had gone by in what seemed like three heartbeats. Tomorrow they would be returning to America on the same flight to Dulles, then she would go on to San Diego. He moved the mouse to the mailbox icon, clicked, waiting through decryption for the message to pop up before leaning back to read. 

“Mulder: 

It’s 2:17 am as I start this, so please forgive me if it’s not my most polished writing. 

I told you I gave the DNA sequences to Susan to check over, as long as she kept them confidential. She got back to me this morning with some questions that we’ll need to discuss, once you’re settled. Good questions, but, you know her. 

On a different note, Bill Stickle has been doing a great impression of a ‘cherry new’ agent, as you and Jerry liked to call them. I’m surprised. I thought this would be old hat for him, but he’s dutifully reading our folders, taking copious notes, and peppering me with questions. I really think he’ll work out, if the powers that be on the fifth floor of Hoover don’t drag him upstairs first. 

Pendrell and Phillips are moonily happy, brown as berries. I stopped by this morning to see if they needed help packing up their labs, and they were all giggles. Perhaps we can make it safe for them to be a family, one day. That was the only time they were serious, when they told me they were planning on waiting at least three years before they considered children. Cynthia volunteered to work with them, so she’ll be spending the rest of the week packing beakers and tissue samples.

Shiffeln and Skinner staged a right proper row, for the pair of them, to kick Shiffeln’s undercover work off. Director Skinner used more words in a few minutes than I’ve heard him use in some weeks. Rob resigned with a flourish that I heard was feeding the jabberers back at the Hoover Building, so I think he’s covered his bases there. He’s picked out the Earth First group he’ll be joining, and I must tell you, he has much more patience for their insanity than I ever could. I also have to confess, before I met you, I might have been persuaded to their cause, but, after what we have learned together, I can’t find the least bit of sympathy for their point of view. I know I’ve not always been willing to consider the possibility of alien life, but, once the proof is this strong, there’s no burying one’s head in the sand, as we tried to do in Africa. One should accept facts, and just adjust to the reality as it is. 

Sorry, I hope the foregoing hasn’t left you flat on the floor howling with laughter, after all we’ve kicked this around over the years. Not that you wouldn’t have earned it, of course. Sorry again. I miss our lunchtime conversations. Sometimes they’re the best parts of Tuesday and Thursday, especially on days when the paperwork has piled up. 

I have my appointment at the British Embassy with Mister ap Gwinn tomorrow at ten am, which will leave me plenty of time to get to Dulles to pick you up at four. Perhaps I’ll have the chance to say hello to Sandra before she jets away to San Diego, but, that all depends on traffic.

With you being gone, work being so slow, and, *finally* having finished with the Cavalli-Sforza (stop hooting, already, again), I’ve had the time to knock a few books off my reading list. I know you like the Guido Brunetti novels, which is a high recommendation, especially for detective stories. You usually figure out the murderer after the first five pages for most of them. I’ve added the first two to my queue, even though I don’t spend much time reading fiction, as you know. Before I dive into them, though, I need to get a little more in-depth Venetian history under my belt. It’ll help the references and landmarks make sense, I hope. I had a generalized background from my Intro to European Civ classes, which taught me that Venice is different from the rest of Italy (which you already know, Mister Peabody, but give me credit for trying to catch up). I’ve picked up Norwich’s history of the Most Serene Republic, and have worked my way through two-thirds of it. Interesting place, Venice. Tomorrow, on our way back from Dulles, I’d like to trade notes with you about some oddball facets of its history that might be worth a second look. I’ll try not to hit anyone on the Dulles Access Road or 66 as we go. Promise. 

Just so it doesn’t get forgotten, let me close by saying, again, how happy I am for you, Mulder. You had two weeks with your sister without any pressure or interruptions, just getting to know each other as adults. From our phone conversations and E-mails, it seems to have been time well spent. If only something like this would work on my brothers, but that’s a lost cause. I’ll stop there. 

Oh, before I forget, thanks for the attached photograph of you, Sandra, Max, Caroline, and your Uncle Isaac. I know how important it was for him to come see you two, after everything you have been through, even though travel for someone his age can be hard. I can tell which side of your family gave you and Sandra your good looks and brains. 

Safe travels, Omniscient Genius,

Scully

He ran a thumb over her name before closing the missive, then paused before transferring the message to the archive folder. _Sometimes our lunch discussions are the best part of Tuesday and Thursday for me, too, Doctor. More than you can ever know._

“Ah, Mulder, there you are. Might this old batchelor have your help with something?” Smiling gently, Max was standing in the doorway. His stepson had lingered over the E-mail, unaware of how long he had been watched, which told the white-haired man exactly who had written it. 

A lop-sided grin. “Yeah, sure, Max. Be happy to.” After logging out, he powered off the screen. _Tomorrow, Scully, tomorrow._

\--o-0-o--

Consejo de i Diexe  
Cambridge, England  
Tuesday, 11:59 am

Alex Krycek took a moment to scan the walls and ceilings of the side room off the Suola. Unlike the plain oak panels there, this room was an intricate recreation of a space he had never seen, the Hall of the Council of Ten in the Doge’s Palace in Venice. He snorted with disgust. _The old man had described all this in detail, but, who cares?_ These people were always going on about doing good with their wealth, but, here they had squandered it on gilt and reproductions. Three of the walls had popes and men in armor on them, but, the bloated people painted there were dull, lifeless. _Why anyone thinks this stuff has meaning._ After shaking his head, he stared up at the rectangular painting above him. A naked man with feathers on his hat and his ankles, carrying a staff with wings, was looking down at a fully-clothed woman in armor, a helmet resting at her feet. _All this. Pointless._

The Ten entered, single-file, all the men and women he had expected: Suebi, Pict, Danaan, Helvetii, Slav, Mandarin, Swahili, Brahmin, Mughal, and Aborigine. He waited until the Cymru entered. So, he would be the advocate for ‘the Enlightenment.’ _Nonsense. All nonsense._ Once the Ten were seated at the long, narrow, plain table opposite the desks of the advocates, Krycek stood. “You know why-” 

“This is *not* the way!” The Cymru pounded the table. 

“It certainly is not.” The Suebi shifted on his seat. “Tribuno, if you had read more than snippets of our laws, you would know how this vote is to go. We have both your opinions in writing. We gave you extra time because of your inexperience, Tribuno. We have read your opinions, and we have deliberated. We are ready to render judgment.” He tapped a silver sphere on a concave biotite-heavy granite platter. “So, how do the Ten vote? For persuasion?” Seven hands rose, including Suebi’s long white fingers. Alex had skimmed enough to know there must be eight votes, one way or another, before the decision was taken, so, he had hope. “For Gradus Absoluta?” Two hands, the Helvetii and the Mandarin, raised, both of which surprised the dark-haired man. 

“We must follow our laws, distasteful as that may be.” The grey-haired woman explained for them both as the long white beard bobbed. 

The Suebi turned to the Slav. “Precious Sister, we know you are but recently come to our ways, but your seat has always been one of the Ten. How may we assist you in making your choice? More time? More reading? Tell us, please.” 

The Slav was gazing at copy of Veronese’s Juno dropping her gifts into the lap of Venetia. “This is all so much to take in.” She turned to the Cymru. “My heart is with you. You have all taught me with gentleness and care. I cannot believe the same would not be true for the Riata, as she seems to already have some sense of who she is.” She looked to Krycek. “On the other hand, the Tribuno Plebis is within the duties of his office to set the standards for admission. Additionally, he has knowledge of the Riata in her life outside. That, too, must be weighed. It is a matter of the heart versus the head, and, I must side with the head.” 

There were gasps around the room. 

The Slav held up her hand. “But, I cannot support ruthlessness in the implementation of this decision, as the original Ten were famed to do. We are but a mere replica.” She waved at the paintings around the chamber. “I require for my vote that Brother Cymru have the opportunity to take his case directly to the Riata. If she cannot be persuaded, she must be indoctrinated. The chalk banner must be lifted at last.” 

Alex Krycek was on his feet. “Finally!” He trotted, almost at a run, as he left the room. He had his opening. His plans for revenge would begin to unfold.

\--o-0-o--

Dulles Airport  
Dulles, Virginia  
Wednesday. July 15, 1998  
4:03 pm

“Still no luck?” Sandra Miller turned to Mulder. After passing through customs, they were waiting at her departure gate. 

Lowering the black unit from his ear, he shook his head. “I’ve left her more voice-mails than I should admit.” He stared out the window at the red and blue tail of the waiting jet. “This isn’t like her. She had said she wanted to see you again before you took off.”

The chestnut-haired woman found herself smiling. Her brother, as an adult, was more of a fussbudget about many things than she hazily remembered from their childhood, but, it was generally for a good reason. “It could just be the traffic, Fox. Jerry warned me it could be excruciatingly bad, even in comparison with the Los Angeles area.” 

He bit his lower lip. “Yeah, maybe.” He focused on her canted eyebrows, then grasped her arm. “No, you’re probably right, Sandie, it’s the traffic. One fender-bender on the Access Road and, blam!, gridlock.” His arm around her shoulders, he guided her to a nearby bank of seats. “I hope the past couple of weeks didn’t put you too far behind in your research.” After they sat, he slid his duffel bag under the bench. 

She twisted her curls around her hand, then flipped them free. “No, having to get these papers out the door did that, so, no worries. As hot as Santorini could get in the afternoon, it was a break, which I’ve needed, after Tom’s death.” She reached for his fingers. “Hey, big brother, don’t worry. Dana can handle herself.” 

His forehead was deeply creased. “I know, but, with-” He fiddled with the phone again, then lifted his hips off the plastic to slide the unit into his jeans pocket. “No, no. If she were here, she’d be giving me her Look right now.” He turned to his sister to offer a shaky grin. “Ah, I’m still not used to having you back, you know, Sandie.” 

She nodded. “I’m still not used to a brother and a mom and a stepdad, so, we’re even.” The flight attendant called the arrival of the shuttle bus in ten minutes, disrupting their quiet conversation momentarily. “We should have spent more time together, you and I, but, maybe for Christmas, you and Dana can come visit, hum?” 

“Yeah. Scully would like that. She hates the cold.” His hazel eyes began scrutinizing her face, trying to memorize all her features. 

She burst out laughing. “Fox, I’m not going anywhere, at least not for another fifteen minutes. Don’t look so deadly somber.” 

He let out a bark. “Sorry. Bad habit.” They lapsed into silence, he clutching her hand. 

When boarding was called, she reached out to hug him. “Okay, that’s me. I’m going to leave you to your John Drake existence, Fox. I’ll call you when I’m home, right?” 

He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Yeah. Sure.” One final clutch, then he stepped back to take her face in his hands. “Take care, Sandra. I love you.” He gently kissed her forehead, prompting a lop-sided grin from the chestnut-haired woman as she stepped clear. He watched until she disappeared around the turn of the jet way, his eyebrows doing a complicated dance as his face alternately reddened and softened. With a sigh, he punched the first speed dial button again, but, after the automated commands to voicemail began, terminated the call. 

“Sir, would you step back please? We need to leave the gateway clear for late passengers.” The boarding attendant, a stack of passes in her hand, had stepped into his view. 

“Yeah, sure.” He used the disruption to return to his bag before sliding a flip book out of one pocket. He punched out a number from a taped-in slip of paper, then waited. “Jerry? It’s Mulder. Did I catch you at a bad time?” 

The surprise in the detective’s voice had the tall man’s forehead crinkling as he heard, “Agent Mulder? No, you didn’t. Is there a problem with Sandie’s flight?” 

“Ah, no. She just boarded. I wanted to be sure you were meeting her, that’s all.” 

“Of course. Are you okay?” The words emanating from the speaker conveyed a degree of anxiety that surprised the dark-haired man. 

He flopped on the bench. “Yeah, I am. I’m just waiting for Scully.” 

“Ah, then, my best to you both. I’ll be there. Don’t go all big brother on me, okay?” 

Finally picking up the glint of humor in his caller’s phrases, Mulder grinned. “Yeah. Sure.” He terminated the connection. His thumb hovered over the first speed dial button, before he tapped in the operator for the Hoover Building. “Second floor Evidence Lab, please.” _Scully has all these numbers in her phone, of course._

After one ring, he heard, “FBI Evidence Lab, Agent Arthur Pendrell speaking.” 

“Pendrell? Is Cynthia there?” 

“Agent Mulder, ah, no, she’s gone back to your offices.” The tall agent caught an undertone of discomfort in the red-haired man’s voice.

_Not this. I thought a month of wedded bliss would have fixed this._ “Pendrell?” The tenor dropped into a growl.

“Um, Agent Mulder, have you seen any news?” 

His breath hitched. “No, I just landed. Pendrell?” The growl morphed into a command. 

“Agent Mulder, there was an attack at the British Embassy today, a gas attack. Director Skinner is there right now. Cynthia went back to your offices to try to help coordinate the search.” 

Now, the dark-haired man was on his feet. “Search? Pendrell? What are you telling me?” 

“Cynthia knew Dana had a meeting there at ten, which is about the time of the gas attack. Apparently, someone flooded the air handling system with anesthetic, and the entire staff was knocked unconscious. They’re trying to ascertain how many people were there, or if some of them went home, or were on leave. It’s been all over the local news. No deaths, just minor injuries from falls, cuts and abrasions. But, no one’s found Agent Scully.” 

Mulder felt like the entire terminal had turned upside down, that he was falling from the floor to the glass ceiling. 

“Agent Mulder? Agent Mulder? Are you still there?” 

He closed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m still here. I have to go.” He grabbed his duffel, then began running, flat out. A security guard called to him to halt, but he waved his FBI badge in the air without breaking stride, not caring whether it registered with the uniformed man.

\--o-0-o--

Islamic Center of Washington, DC  
2551 Massachusetts Avenue NW  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, 5:47 pm

Its brakes squeaking, the cab had ground to a stop, since a cluster of DC police vehicles was blocking all access closer to the embassy. “Sir, this is-” 

“I know.” Mulder handed the cab driver five twenties. “Thanks.” With a slam of the rear door, he was barreling down the street, duffel in one hand, FBI badge aloft in the other. 

“Sir!” A uniform stepped into his path. “Sir, we can’t let anyone in.” 

Mulder was waving his identification. “You don’t understand. My partner-” He shook his head. _That won’t work._ “I’m with Assistant Director Skinner. I need to get through.” 

The uniform returned to his vehicle, shouted into a shortwave radio, then poked his head out of the car. “He’ll be here in a minute for you. He’s been expecting you.” The officer pointed to the duffel. “What’s in the bag, Sir?” 

Mulder looked down, then back at the sunglasses above a blond mustache. “I just arrived from Greece. I took a cab directly from Dulles. Sir!” He began hopping at the sight of a bald head, weaving a path through the clusters of vans and sedans. 

“Agent Mulder, come with me, please.” Skinner was grimly focused as he took the younger man’s arm. “I have the official she was here to meet waiting for you. Keep calm, Mulder, he’s just as worried as you are about Agent Scully. What is this Riata business?” 

The dark-haired man spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s a long story, Sir. They must think she’s one of them, apparently.” 

A dark glance shot through round spectacles. “No one thought to inform me of this?” 

“Sir!” Mulder yanked his arm free. “We barely understand what this group is about! Where is he?” 

“Agent Mulder, calm down.” The bald Director glared back. “Do not attack this man. He has diplomatic immunity. Do you understand?” The words of the question were growled individually from a motionless face. 

“Sir!” The agent’s chest was heaving. “He knows where Scully is. Now, where is he?” 

“I’m here, Atrebates.” Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn was lifting the strap of the oxygen mask over his head as he walked up to the two men. 

A plop as the duffel hit the concrete before Mulder grabbed ap Gwinn by the shoulders. “Where is she! Tell me!” 

“Agent Mulder!” Skinner was attempting to disentangle the two. “Calm down. Just listen.” 

The dark-haired man began prowling circles around ap Gwinn. “I swear to you, if any-” 

The Cymru stepped into his face. “The Riata is safe, for now. She is alive. We have seven days to find her. Atrebates, think of her, not yourself. Think of Our Sister first. That is your task.” 

“She’s not your sister!” 

“Agent Mulder!” Skinner was pulling at him. 

Ap Gwinn held up both hands. “No, Atrebates, you are right. She is not Our Sister, not yet. In seven days, she will be.” 

Mulder’s fingers rounded into fists. “Or, she will be dead. Is that it? The ritual of Gradus Absoluta? The Initiation of an Unwilling Candidate?” 

The red-haired man stared in surprise. “How did you know? The ceremony was recorded in only one codex, which Brother Suebi has kept safe. How did you know?” 

Skinner glared at them both in turn, finally facing his agent. “Agent Mulder, will you *please* tell me what you two are talking about?” 

Mulder turned to his superior. “It was in my Father’s documents, the ones we found in Chilmark. You probably didn’t have the time to read that far. There was a brief unencrypted discussion, and a detailed encrypted one. My Father was spying on this group-” He waved a finger at ap Gwinn. “-for the Shadows, and he found it. That’s why we only have seven days. They’ll try to indoctrinate her by putting her through the seven ages of man.” 

Skinner rounded on the Cymru. “Is this true?” 

Curly red hair bobbed. “The Council of Ten voted, but, I was instructed to lay out a choice for the Riata before any precipitate action was taken.” 

“Stop calling her that! She has a name! Dana Katherine Scully!” Mulder was dancing angrily around the two beside him. 

Skinner grasped the younger man by the shoulder. “Not now, Agent Mulder.” The bald Director turned back to the Cymru. “What is this choice?” 

The red-haired man closed his eyes momentarily, knowing he was about to break the silence that protected the Ekklesia, but, this was for the Riata. “We normally have several meetings with a potential candidate for the Fellowship, to gauge their interest. But, the Tribuno, who knows her from her life in the Bureau, has called for Gradus Absoluta. I never had the chance to offer her a choice, which may make any outcome illegitimate. We must live by our rules.” 

Mulder crossed his arms. “What do you mean, the Tribuno knew her here?” His rage was subsiding as a horrible possibility formed in his mind. 

Ap Gwinn patted his shoulder. “We do not ask members the names used on the outside. He had worked with you, and with her, he said. He had a tape of the actions of our joint enemies he gave the Suebi as the price of his admittance. He had it translated before he came to us. It was in Dine code talk.” 

“Krycek.” Skinner and Mulder spoke simultaneously. 

The tall agent’s hands were over his face. “Krycek has her. He can finish what the old men wanted three years ago.” 

The red-haired man shook his head. “They have eight hours head-start on us, but, even if the Tribuno has a secret agenda-” 

“He does.” Skinner touched his neck as he remembered a painful confrontation in a hospital stairwell. 

“-she is surrounded by our allies, who will follow the ritual exactly. That is why we have seven days, Atrebates.” Ap Gwinn took an arm of each man. “Gather your forces. Rally all your best people. I shall speak with my Brothers and Sisters, who will be observing from the Suola. It is our way. We must feel all that the candidate feels. The Ekklesia will be in session for the duration of the Initiation. There is an Embassy plane I can charter for tonight.” 

His cell in his hand, Mulder spun to face the Assistant Director. “I’ll call Nichols and Rosen, you inform Pendrell, Phillips, and Stickle.” 

The Director nodded. “Agreed. He’s ready. He knows the stakes.” 

The dark-haired agent turned to ap Gwinn. “Where is this plane? Some of our people are in San Diego, some are here in DC.” 

The Cymru reached for Mulder’s phone. “Let me call our allies. They can charter a jet so your people can fly as soon as they are prepared.” 

Once the black unit was back in his hands, he tapped out the number for X-Files West. _Hang on, Scully, just hang on._

\--o-0-o--

Unknown Place  
Unknown Time

The first sensation Dana Scully felt was the cold. Not the bleak perception she was familiar with from being in the Arctic, nor the deprivation of warmth she remembered from being on the streets, but a wet drainage that chilled her bones. The second was of confinement. She was lying in a comfortable bed, but blankets had been rolled around her, like a cocoon. How she could be cold while swaddled up like this she would work out shortly. She peered to her left. There was a wooden door, painted green, with two varnished oak chairs on one side of it. To her right were two windows, a bright yellow dresser between them. The view through the bars over the panes was of lush rolling green hills, dotted with oaks and heather. 

She tried to sit up, but the tight blankets prevented it. After some twisting, she worked her right arm free, then her left. _That was something, at least._ With those, she could push herself upright, possibly work out of the cocoon. Her left hand landed on something silky, so she looked down. A strand of ginger curls lay underneath. In fact, the mattress was covered with auburn ringlets. She touched her head. _Mine. My hair. That’s why I’m cold._ She wiggled until the blankets were down to her hips, then gasped. She was unclothed from the waist up. Almost instinctively, she reached back inside the blankets. Whoever had stripped her of her garments had left her underwear on, so there was that. 

She checked the room again. The chairs, dresser, and bed were all painted with bright blocks of colors: blue, green, yellow, pink. The blankets were festooned with green dolphins, purple cows, red elephants. Toys were hung from the tall rails, higher than her head, on three sides of the bed. As she pulled her feet free to drop them to the mattress, she heard something squeak, like a child’s stuffed animal. She looked down. That was exactly what it was, a pink lion with a bright pink mane, silver wings, and a long tail, a pink ball at the end. In fact, there were stuffed toys on the dresser, the chairs, as well as staring at her from the foot of the bed. _I wonder._ She pulled the underwear away in the front. _Bare, there, too._ She hoped whoever had done that to her had been a woman. 

_Oh, no._ It struck her, then, what had happened. She had been worried about traffic, but had reached Dafydd ap Gwinn’s tasteful office right at ten am. He made a joke about Americans and their punctuality, led her to a comfortable chair, then they started chatting politely about his estate in Wales. He had called her something, before correcting himself. _Riata._ That brought back memories of her Mother telling her stories of the Lords of the Isles, as if she had been descended from the women and men who sailed from Ireland to Scotland to the Hebrides, where they had fought the Northmen, centuries ago. He had just offered her a selection of teas. As she had pointed out the Earl Grey, they had made a joke about Picard. But, then, nothing. If he truly was one of the Forty, if she was here in a child’s bedroom, no, an infant’s room, then she knew what was happening. She was being initiated as an unwilling candidate into the Forty. They would walk her through the seven stages of man, all the while trying to convince her that the Forty were her family, were her Brothers and Sisters. She was the infant now, no hair, just coverings of her private parts, but only such as an infant possessed. 

_Seven days._ She had to survive for seven days. Her Bureau training started to kick in. For all the froth and ceremony, she was a hostage. She knew she had two goals: survival and escape. First, she needed to take stock of her prison cell, to see what might help her accomplish either. She stood on the mattress, before grasping the railing on the right firmly. She hauled herself up, threw a leg over, then heard a crack. After the shock of the impact wore off, she realized she was on the floor, the fractured spokes and bars crumpled around her. She checked herself over carefully. No cuts, nothing broken. Bruises, but they seemed to almost be a fact of her life anymore. She yanked the tube of blankets off the bed, then unrolled them. She might have to be barefoot for the day, but that would be all. She suspected there were hidden cameras, only, no one was entitled to a peep show. She tore one covering in two, splitting a line of orange giraffes down their middles, then coiled and tied one half around her chest, the other encasing her waist. Despite her situation, she found herself smiling. She was dressed like a bizarro Jane. If only there were vines to swing out of this prison. 

_Speaking of looking._ She walked to the windows. There were bars on both sides of the glass. She tried them, shaking any she could reach, but all were bolted tightly in place. She surveyed the room again, looking for something she might use to loosen them. It was then she noticed the second door, so she walked over to try it. It was a fully-equipped modern bathroom, so that was something. She flipped the light switch, then gasped at her reflection. Whoever had shaved her head had not been gentle about it. She had gouges behind her ears, scrapes on her forehead. No matter. If the toilet worked, she would use it. Although they wanted her to think of herself as an infant, there was only so far they were willing to take the charade, apparently. Perhaps there were cameras here, too, but, at this point, the pressure in her abdomen overrode those concerns. 

Once relieved, she cleaned and dried her hands, then cupped them under the tap to gather enough liquid to drink. She considered, briefly, whether the water might have hallucinogens, but decided probably not. Just to be safe, she checked the plumbing under the sink. There was no evidence of tampering there, just standard pipes running in from the wall, then out the drain. If the water to the room had been drugged, as Mulder’s had, then they would have had to contaminate all of it coming into the house. Since she suspected the people who were performing the indoctrination were in other spaces of this building, so would be using it as well, probably not. She cupped her hands to drink freely. Thirst would not be a problem, but hunger might. She could not trust any food presented to her. Because that would be specially prepared, it could be laced with any number of substances, so would only affect her. Given that the entire point of this monstrous procedure was to make her pliant and cooperative, she would have to avoid consuming anything that was not raw or unprocessed. 

She heard footsteps approaching the door. She scrambled back to the bed, grabbed a shattered rail, the split giving her a rudimentary point, then rushed over to flatten herself a doors-width beyond the hinges. Once the feet stopped moving, the knob rotated. 

“Now, dearie-o, we’re watching. We know you have a stake. Why would you use it on your family? We just want to look out for you, little thing.” The voice oozed kindness, tender matronly care. 

But Scully knew that was the last thing the woman on the other side intended. Normally, she would have challenged her captor verbally, but, after an instant’s thought, she kept silent. The initiation was supposed to end with the candidate either dead or a member of the Forty, but she had to find a way out between those two choices. She had to give them neither assent nor dissent, nothing that would allow them to claim victory or her submission. 

“So, not speaking, are we? Well, we’re a little thing, so probably that’s as it should be.” 

Scully’s forehead wrinkled. _They’ve never done this before. They don’t know what to expect either._ Suddenly, the odds no longer seemed so insurmountable. She raised the stake. The woman who trundled through the door was bearing a tray, three small bowls arranged in a triangle on it. As Scully had expected, the contents were processed scoops of brightly-colored pablum. She darted in front of the woman to knock the tray from her arms, being careful to contact only the steel plate, not the person. _Survival, at all costs._ She rushed out into the hall. She suspected the windows of her room were the only ones with bars, that she might make her way outside through a different exit. She chose the second door on her right. As she predicted, light shone in through simple panes of glass, so she pushed one open, tossed out her makeshift weapon, then dropped down onto a bed of heather, rolling to lessen the impact. Scully picked up the stake, before starting to run, flat out. She heard voices calling behind her. The words, “They’ve found us, we have to move,” floated out to her. _Mulder. Who else would be on them so fast? He would bring all the rest of their group, one way or another. Stay alive, Dana._ Then, she heard, “There she is, get the jeeps!” She searched around for cover, but she was in a valley, a stream only a few inches wide sinuously connecting the lowest points. She pushed herself harder, running from one lengthening shadow to the next. Perhaps, around the next hill would be a road, so she could escape along it. But, the whining of the jeeps was getting louder, as several voices were shouting now. “There she is!” “Get in front of her!” No matter how fast she could run, or feint, she found herself surrounded by six vehicles, their engines gunning. 

“Stop there, Scully.” The voice sent chills up her spine as she turned to face it. Alex Krycek was wearing a grey hooded robe, his Bureau SIG emerging from the over-sized sleeve to the gasps of the others. “Give it up. There’s nowhere to go. Survival, Scully, that’s the first thing, right?” 

She silently raised her hands. _One day down, six to go._ Four of the men jumped from the jeep, each grabbing an arm or a leg. After swabbing a cloth with liquid from a brown bottle until it dripped on the grass, Krycek clamped it over her mouth and nose. She heard, “Tie her up. Watch for the legs. She’s a trained fighter,” then nothing more.

\--o-0-o--

Over the Atlantic  
Thursday, July 16, 1998  
11:57 pm

Andrea Rosen nodded to Arthur Pendrell and Terry Phillips, quietly holding hands, as she passed them along the short central aisle of the Gulfstream III. On their laps were the cell phones all had been issued for the trip, European units set to the same seven digits as the devices they used in the States. She was headed toward the front, where Mulder was standing, arms crossed, glowering at the passing clouds. She had no idea how to offer him any comfort, just that she wanted him to know he was not alone. She reached for his elbow. “Mulder, we’ll find her.” 

His chin dropped to his chest. “We must.” He sighed. “We will.” He raised his hazel eyes to hers. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to. You’re not in the Bureau anymore, at least officially.” He jerked his head toward the interior of the plane. “None of you had to, but, all of you did. Without hesitation or thought.” Sighing, he went back to staring at the clouds.

“Hey, this is Scully. Dana. She’d walk over shattered glass on lava for any of us, then wave away our gratitude while you fussed over her feet.” She watched his lips quirk. She knew, from having observed the two of them together, that, at this point, Scully would try to pull him out of his dolor by getting him to engage his analytical brain. She took a deep breath. “This group, the Forty. How many of them do you think are actively involved in what’s happening, and how many are just watching?” 

His shoulders slumped. “I think they’re all just watching, like it’s some great game, and Scully’s their prey.” He pointed at the red-haired man in the brown suit. “Except for him.” He turned to face her fully. “He’s done nothing but cooperate. Maybe there are some of them who actually believe all the nonsense they spew about rules and laws and protecting humanity.” 

The brunette astronomer nodded. “He briefed us extensively on where it’s likely she’s being kept, how many people to expect on the ground. But, since they double-crossed him and gassed him along with everyone else, he has a reason not to trust them anymore. Do you think this Krycek will be there?” 

Mulder shrugged. “I know he will be. This is the start of his revenge, Rosen. I knew it when he took the MJ tape from Skinner. He wants to bring all the organizations he sees as having hurt him down: the Shadows, the Bureau, and, now, these Forty, who ap Gwinn tells me rejected him as a candidate.” He slumped into a nearby swiveling airplane seat. “From Krycek’s viewpoint, if Scully joins the Forty, then he’s weakened us. Weakened me.” He pushed at his right cheek with the palm of his hand. “If we go down, then the Shadows and the Forty will be at each other, and he’ll have his revenge. If she dies...” His voice dropped to a whisper as he rubbed his eyes slowly. “If she dies, that all just happens faster. For him, it’s a win-win.” He went back to staring out at the clouds. “In five hours, we land in Northumbria, and it starts.” He looked over at her. “Take a break, Rosen, get a couple of hours sleep. We don’t really know what to expect.” 

She patted his arm once, as she had seen his partner do, so often. “I’d tell you to do the same, Mulder, but I don’t expect you’ll sleep until she’s safe, will you?” 

A quiet snort was the only agreement he offered, so she headed back to sit beside her former partner, who, with Walter Skinner, was gently tutoring William Stickle in what was most likely to come.

\--o-0-o--

Unknown place  
Unknown time

Dana Scully pulled in a deep breath, then opened her eyes. _This is the second day._ Today, she knew, there would be some simulacrum of her school years, all intended to bring her further into line. She checked her surroundings. This was a different room from the previous day. Gone was the bright conglomerate of colors. In their place, were pink walls, salmon taffeta bows on the corners of the bed. The pink lion with silver wings stared at her from down by her feet, the only part of her ‘bedroom’ from the previous day still in place. If she was being monitored, it was probably by a camera inside. She lifted the covers, a normal sheet and blanket, stubby-legged unicorn ponies leaping random rainbows on the threads. Her forehead creased again. They really had to do better than generic girl room, but, she should be thankful they had so little knowledge of her tomboy childhood. She sat up, surprised to see blonde bangs falling into her eyes. She reached up to feel her head, then tug hard at the long hair. Someone had glued a wig in place, ringlets of curls that were not her own. She looked down. _Clothes, at least._ A little girl’s navy blue sailor uniform, with, she noted as she grunted, white knee socks in blue patent leather shoes, a half-size too small, cramping her toes. Someone, at least, was attempting to keep her from running today. 

_Today._ She felt her stomach rumble. Yesterday, she had not felt hungry, but, today would be more of a challenge. Just in case she consumed something hallucinogenic, she needed a marker of days. Her gaze fell on the patent leather shoes, a sparkly gold pin stuck through the outermost hole of the strap. That would do. She backed the strap out, slid the shoe off, then drew two parallel lines on her left forearm, deep enough to bleed slightly. Those would be marks that would heal, but could not be washed away. 

_That would do._ She needed to leave behind some indication to her partner that she knew he was coming. She shifted to her side, knocked the lion to the floor with her sock-clad foot, then scratched several letters on the head of the bed. Once finished, she positioned the pillows neatly to cover them. She knew Mulder would tear the room apart, that he would find them. She slipped the patent leather back over her toes before buckling the strap. 

There was a door at the end of the bedroom, so she padded over to it, noting as she did the beach she could see through the barred windows. She was in a different house, another story up. As with the shoes, whoever was running this was making it more difficult for her to escape. She could also hear feet approaching, so, if this room was a bathroom, best to take care of necessities, consume some water now. She turned the faceted crystal knob, then gave it a push. It was indeed a bathroom, decorated with sparkles, so, with a grimace, she relieved and cleaned herself and drank. 

“Don’t want to be late for school, little sweetness!” It was the same matronly voice as before, with a hint of panic underneath. If Krycek was in charge, no doubt he had raged at them all for several hours for yesterday’s failure. 

Scully had to refrain from calling back. _Neither positive nor negative, remember._ She wiped her hands, then, with a carefully neutral expression, waited in front of the door. 

The 'Matron' entered. She was in a grey skirted suit and sensible black shoes, not carrying food. They had obviously learned that lesson as well. “Ah, there you are. All ready and pretty, my dear.” The woman’s blue eyes scanned the room. “But, look, you forgot to make up your bed. Let me do that.” 

_They can’t see my message._ The diminutive agent stepped into the older woman’s path, then offered her a tiny smile, before starting to smooth down the covers. As she plumped the pillows before tucking them under the spread, she checked the waiting woman out of the corner of her eye. The lined face was cocked to the left, puzzlement written on her features. The bed finished, the lion perched in the depression between pillows, Scully returned to the 'Matron'’s side. 

“Ah. Very good, my dear.” The comment was offered without inflection. 

Scully considered skipping along beside her, but, that would be too much. They walked together down two flights of stairs. The main level was an open, high space, where four rows of four old-fashioned wooden school desks stood. All but the left desk in the front was occupied, so Scully took it. There were notepads and four yellow pencils lined up on the dark oak surface. As she looked up, a different older woman stood at a wheeled chalkboard, rows of single variable polynomials written out, all first and second order. _Really?_ She reminded herself not to gloat that this was almost too easy. There must be more than algebra to the game. 

The 'Teacher' was tall, thin, glaring down a long, bony nose that had half-spectacles perched on it. Dressed in a severe tweed skirted suit, she held a wooden pointer that she rapped on the blackboard chalk tray three times. “One problem for each student, starting with you.” The 'Teacher' aimed the plastic-capped tip at the right rear seat. “Solve number one, using your pad, then tell me the answer.” 

Scully solved the equation in her head, then waited. 

“X equals twelve.” The speaker was in a grey robe, the cowl pulled over the face, but the voice was unmistakably male. 

“Very good!” The 'Teacher' rewarded the 'student' with a smile and a cheerful chirp. 

Scully’s forehead wrinkled. The answer was eleven, obvious since the equation was 2x=22. 

Noting her expression, the 'Teacher' issued a nasal humph. 

Scully schooled her face to a mask. 

The other students all offered erroneous solutions to their problems, each being rewarded with praise, until it was Scully’s turn. She had been considering her options. No doubt, this was a rudimentary attempt at applying peer pressure. She decided it was time to test her keepers. She stood, walked to the chalkboard, picked up a yellow cylinder, then wrote down “x = -2” on the blackboard. Since the second-order polynomial was x2 + 4x + 4 = 0, there was only one root. She finished by substituting the solution to show the equation balanced. 

“Wrong!” The 'Teacher' added a decisive thwack on her knuckles. “Do it again, and show all your work this time.” 

Scully wrote out the binomial theorem, positioned ax2 + bx + c = 0 above the original equation, substituted numbers for A, B, and C, then worked out the solution. 

“Wrong again!” The 'Teacher' rapped her fingers this time. “Class, what should the answer be?” 

“Minus three!” Fifteen male voices boomed. 

“We’ll need to try this again” The 'Teacher' extended a long, bony digit toward Scully’s desk. “Go back to your seat, little girl.” 

The entire exercise was repeated, but as before, Scully chose to silently countermand the errors. She refused to conform to the behavior of the group, regardless of the punishment. Nor would she complain. Either would be expected. 

The 'Matron' appeared in the back of the classroom, bearing another tray, this time covered with round shortbread cookies. “Treats for all the good little girls and boys!” she trilled. She carried the tray up and down the rows, giving one cookie to each of the ‘children,’ all of whom consumed the offerings with smacking lips and noisy sighs of pleasure. 

Scully realized the shortbread was freshly baked, still warm, that it smelled delicious. As the 'Matron' approached her, she found it hard not to reach for the golden round. But, the pointer snapped down on the tray, smashing the treat to crumbs. 

“Bad little girls don’t get cookies.” The 'Teacher' glared over her glasses.

\--o-0-o--

Fenleyding, Northumbria  
Friday, July 17, 1998  
7:21 pm

“Okay! It’s go time, people!” Walter Skinner bellowed as the menacing black SUV rolled to a halt at the end of the long, yew-lined drive. Mulder had stopped speaking with anyone almost three hours earlier, so the Assistant Director had stepped up, organizing the raid with ap Gwinn’s guidance. 

Weapons drawn, the X-team agents in their black FBI field jackets rolled out of all the doors. Rosen and Nichols headed to the basement, although, the silent drive, the locked entrances, the darkened windows, all appeared to indicate an unoccupied structure. Pendrell and Phillips pounded up the stairs, covering the third and fourth floors quickly. Mulder and Skinner cased the second level, while Stickle and ap Gwinn worked through the ground floor common areas. 

As Mulder pushed open the last bedroom door, the one with the sweeping view of the moors through barred windows, he gasped as he staggered to a halt. The bright panoply of color on the walls and furniture was garish, almost sickening. But, what had him motionless were the strands of red curls strewn over the grey mattress and bare pillows, twisted in the animal blankets, poking through the slats of the rails. He forced himself to hobble toward the bed, to search the covers for blood, urine, or other bodily fluids he could not bring himself to name. 

“Agent Mulder!” Skinner was in the doorway, his weapon still drawn. 

The dark-haired man was clutching a coil of auburn. “She was here, Sir.” His forehead creased deeply. “This is the infant stage. We need to treat this as coercive persuasion. She knows what to expect, so she’ll be mentally prepared. But no one can hold out forever.” His fist still closed, he walked around the bed to point with his gun. “There’s a spoke missing out of the broken rail on this side.” He let himself sag against the foot board. “She was arming herself to attempt to escape. She was conscious and planning ahead. Good, Scully, good.” He spun to face his superior. “We need to sweep the grounds, Sir, to see how far she got.” 

“All in good time, Agent Mulder.” He lifted the portable radio to call the others to him. Once they were assembled, he set the eight of them in widening searches out from the sides and rear of the house. 

Mulder was by the back door when he spotted the jeep tracks. “There were six of them, all in parallel. They must have been after her.” He started running, faster than Skinner could keep up. When he was almost to the road, he spotted the bright stake, green and yellow. “Here! She got to here! Scully! Scully!” He ran to the top of the next hillock, watching the trucks rolling past. “Almost. You almost made it. Good, Scully, good.” 

Ap Gwinn, along with the rest of the X-team, joined the two. “Okay. Then they must have relocated. Since this is a daily indoctrination, I know which of the Suebi’s estates they’ve likely taken over right now. It’s only a couple of hours away, up close to the Border.” 

“This is the member of your organization Krycek was cooperating with?” Rosen had stepped up beside him as she asked.

As the Cymru’s single nod, Stickle shook his blond head. “How do you know all this? How?” It was his first question since the Gulfstream had landed. 

Nichols patted his arm. “Remember, if Krycek is calling the shots, he’s going to take the show to the places he knows, which helps limit our search. Just relax, son, you’ll be okay.” 

Phillips gasped at the curls, still in Mulder’s grip. “They cut off her beautiful hair!” 

Pendrell wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t dwell on it, Terry. It’ll just eat you up inside.” 

Skinner eyed the dark-haired agent’s hand. “We’ll need to collect what trace evidence we can from the scene, including that, Agent Mulder.” 

“Yeah, sure.” The younger man’s eyes darted around the room anxiously. But, his long fingers simply closed more tightly on the ginger strands.

\--o-0-o--

Unknown place  
Unknown time

So it had gone the rest of the morning. The subject had switched to history, asking for significant dates. As before, Scully had written out ‘878’ for the Battle of Edington, countermanded as 787 by the 'Teacher'. She had carefully stenciled ‘1066’ on her pad as the answer to the question of the Norman Invasion, only to have the fifteen ‘boys’ around her point and laugh before calling out ‘1166’ in unison. Her offer of ‘1649’ for the death of Charles I was corrected as ‘1659,’ with a rap for good measure on her knuckles, that left them cracked and bleeding. She noticed the questions all had a significantly British locus, not surprising for where she was obviously being held. 

The beak-nosed 'Teacher' wrote the date ‘1688’ on the blackboard, the ovals in the 6 and the 8’s perfectly identical. “Alright, class, who was king that year?” 

“James the Second!” the grey cowls belted. 

“But?” 

Scully raised her hand. 

“So, bad little girl, ready to get it wrong again? What do they teach in those American schools anyway, hum?” A long grimace accompanied the hoots bouncing off the high oak ceiling. 

The diminutive agent stepped to the blackboard to write precisely, ‘William of Orange and Mary Stuart.’ Underneath, she added, ‘William III and Mary II.’

“Hah!” the pointer rapped the top of the 'Teacher'’s desk. “You know nothing! Parliament formally offered them the crown in February 1689! So, you are wrong, as always.” 

Scully released a long breath before turning to the board to scribe in yellow, ‘The king is dead, long live the king.’ She held herself erect. 

The only answer was a whistle of the pointer before it burned across her cheek and ear, leaving her head ringing and buzzing.

“Now, now, dearies, it’s lunchtime.” The 'Matron', pushing a wooden cart, was trundling to the 'Teacher'’s side. The tray on the top was laden with sandwiches: cheese, turkey, chicken, ham, and roast beef, all on freshly-baked thick brown bread, the warm yeasty scent wafting from the still-soft slices. A second tray rested on the lower shelf, bearing seventeen glasses and a clear pitcher of frothy white milk, waiting to be distributed. The cart was positioned between ‘Student’ and 'Teacher'. As Scully watched, a protruding thick corner of orange cheddar softened, folding down against the crust of the sandwich closest to her. 

“One last question, and you children can eat.” The 'Teacher' turned to the blackboard to write out, “Which king died at the Battle of Bosworth Field?” 

Scully’s stomach rumbled audibly, but she kept still. 

“Henry the Seventh!” The male voices were unified.

Once again, the pressure to join was nearly tangible, but, Scully walked past the 'Matron' to write in yellow proudly, ‘Richard III.’ For good measure, she added, ‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!’ in her best cursive lettering. 

Seventeen faces stared at her in silence. 

“No lunch for wicked little girls!” The 'Teacher' clapped her hands twice, prompting the 'Matron' to carry the sandwiches around to each, including the 'Teacher', bypassing Scully with a shake of her grey head and a sigh. 

_Do the unexpected._ Scully reached to the bottom shelf to lift the tray of glasses before placing it on the 'Teacher'’s desk. 

From her position in the back of the room, the 'Matron' eyed her frantically. 

With a flourish, Scully dispensed the milk evenly among the seventeen glasses, then held out the first to the 'Teacher', who took it in silence. She wove a path among the sixteen desks, until she was standing in front of the 'Matron', one tall glass of white remaining. She pushed the silver metal forward. 

The grey-haired woman was blinking rapidly. “Oh, you little dear. Little dear. You-” 

“No!” The 'Teacher' had joined them. “Take it! Take it from the wicked, wicked creature. Take it now!” 

The 'Matron' backed away. “I can’t. The little dear. She hasn’t eaten in-” 

A tinkling crash as glass and tray were driven to the floor by the pointer, leaving the milk pooling over the oak boards amid clear shards. “Then no one gets it.” The tall woman stomped back to the desk in the front of the space. 

The meal consumed, the 'Teacher' pointed to a door at the side of the ‘classroom.’ “Good boys, go out and play.” She bent over Scully, who had returned to her desk to wait, one hand resting on the other. “Wicked girls stay here and clean the room.” The 'Teacher' walked to a hall closet, yanked out a green-handled straw broom and silver metal dustbin, then shoved them toward her. 

As the ‘boys’ filed out, the diminutive agent sighed, rose, then took both implements. _Do the unexpected._ She crossed to the rear corner of the tall space to begin sweeping the walls and windows for cobwebs. The repeated motions gave her the time to study the wide green lawn beyond. To her surprise, she saw trucks passing in both directions on the road at the end of the yard, their rumble drowning the sound of the waves breaking on the beach. 

She had survived, so now, escape was the uppermost in her mind. Since it was just the two of them, she would lull the 'Teacher' with her apparent cooperation, break out through the single glass panes, then run for freedom. She continued sweeping, moving from one clear expanse to the next. Eventually, the 'Teacher', her attention wandering, looked away, giving Scully the opening to shove the tip of the handle through the frame in front of her. With the metal pan, she swept the broken shards onto the ground beyond, threw herself outside, then ran, still carrying the broom. 

“Get her!” The 'Teacher' was shouting and pointing. 

The fifteen 'boys' attempted to converge on Scully as she bolted. 

Swinging the broom in circles around her head, she kept the cowled figures at bay, but eventually, her slick flat leather soles hit a smooth patch of flagstone, so her pinched feet flew out from under her. The men were on her in a pile, some punching, some throwing their weight on top of her. She saw the rag approaching her face, realizing, as Alex Krycek’s cackle rattled in her ears, today would not be the day for escape. She thought she heard, ‘They’re coming! We have to move her! Get the vans!’ before she sensed nothing more.

\--o-0-o--

Skoldromi, Northumbria  
Sunday, July 19, 1998  
2:47 am

“Freeze!” Mulder had his SIG aimed at the hood of a grey-cowled man sitting at one of the rear desks in the high main room. 

Walter Skinner assumed a firing stance at his agent’s left shoulder. “Both hands in the air.” 

The wide grey sleeves fell as the arms elevated, exposing pale bare skin. 

“Now.” The Assistant Director’s voice was level. “Stand up slowly.” 

The figure rose. “Please, don’t shoot. I’ve seen enough. I just want this to be over.” 

“Agent Stickle, search the suspect.” Skinner knew better than to let Mulder anywhere near the man enshrouded in grey.

His own SIG leveled, Stickle approached cautiously. He drew a deep breath. “I have my weapon aimed at your head. I want you to lower your right arm, unfasten the robe, and slide it off your right arm.” He drew back the hammer. “Try anything, any sudden moves, and I *will* fire. We just want to talk to you, but any aggression will be answered with force.” 

As the right side of the robe fell loose, it exposed a white t-shirt and tan trousers underneath. “I understand. I only want to help.” The man’s voice quavered as he pleaded.

By this time, the other agents and the Cymru had entered through the front door. 

Putting his Bureau training into practice for the first time, Stickle wagged his SIG. “Okay, raise your right arm again.” Once the hand was elevated, he pointed the muzzle downward. “Now, just lower your left arm and let the robe fall off completely.” 

With the grey wool piled on the floor, Stickle kicked it away with his foot. “Both hands in the air, spread your legs. I’m lowering my weapon, but there are six other officers with theirs ready. I’m going to search you.” 

The thin, pale face checked the figures in a wide circle around him. When his dark eyes landed on ap Gwinn, he gasped. “Mighty Cymru, I want no harm to come to the Riata.” 

The red-haired man made no move to approach him. “Then, just follow the orders you are being given. These agents are here to recover the Riata. We will speak shortly, Quaestor.” 

With the pat-down complete, ap Gwinn turned to Mulder. “I know this man, Atrebates. We have worked together many times in the service of the Ekklesia.” 

The dark-haired agent only glared. “Will he help us find Scully?” 

“Of course I will.” The Quaestor extended both his arms. “We were told that this was the only way to bring the Riata into the Fellowship, but if that is so, than we have fallen into error.” 

Ap Gwinn moved slowly to stand nose-to-nose with the pale face. “What do you mean?” 

The man’s shoulders drooped as his arms fell to his sides. “We were told she had rejected the choice of persuasion, Mighty Cymru, so an unwilling initiation was our only option.”

“Then, Brother, you were told a lie. I was never permitted to offer her a choice. I, too, was attacked without mercy. She was taken before we could speak of her admittance.” 

The Quaestor turned to Mulder, fell to his knees, then clasped his hands together in supplication. “Atrebates, we have done you and your office a great wrong. At your approach, they have taken the Riata to TyrGleipnir, near Forestburn Gate. If you leave now, there you will find her before the installation for tomorrow’s activities is complete. There will be disorder you can exploit.” 

Mulder engaged the safety before holstering his weapon. “Then, we go.” 

The Cymru held up his hand. “Agents, we must not act precipitately. If this initiation is proceeding under Gradus Absoluta, then, the Quaestores will attempt to block your access to the Riata. You have weapons; they do not.” 

As she secured her SIG, Rosen nodded. “They’ve been Milgramed. They think they’re following consensual orders, not a lie.”

Nichols shook his head. “But, this Alex Krycek. He will have his weapon.” 

“Ah.” Ap Gwinn released a long sigh. “I had not considered that. You are right. He is an American; he will, of course, be armed.” The green eyes focused on each agent in turn. “The Tribuno will not surrender easily, and one or more of your lives may be lost.” 

The Assistant Director holstered his SIG. “Then, how do we end this quickly?” 

His composure regained, the pale, thin Quaestor rose. “We go to the Suola to tell them the truth that has been concealed from them.” 

The red-haired Cymru nodded. “The Ekklesia has been observing the Initiation.” 

The brunette astronomer crossed her arms. “Are they still monitoring us now? Could we speak to them directly and end this?” She sighed at the shaking heads. “That would have been too simple.” 

“No.” The pale Quaestor turned to her. “We have been moving the surveillance cameras along with the Riata. I helped pack them up myself before I hid. We will need to be physically present.” 

Phillips gasped. “You mean, you have no electronic communications in your Suola?” 

“No.” Ap Gwinn looked over at her. “It is Cambridge. It is a chamber of thought, deliberation, and reasoned discourse. We have a computer-controlled display system, but it is disconnected from the outside to eliminate distractions. It will take several hours to drive there, and by the time the decision is debated and taken, it will be the fourth day.” 

“Then we fly.” Pendrell’s voice was flat and firm. “There is a helicopter on the roof of this building. If it’s fueled, I have a US license, and I’ve spent a lot of time in the air the past month or so, flying around mountains in Hawaii.” 

Phillips took his hand. “Never felt safer.”

The red-haired agent squeezed her fingers gratefully. “I’ve flown light aircraft for almost twenty years. I can get us to Cambridge in three hours once we’re cleared.” 

Mulder found himself wearing a shaky grin. “That’s a ride I’ll take, Pendrell.” 

Ap Gwinn turned to Skinner. “We will need to bring back the Suebi and the Pict. They can help me persuade the others to abandon the Tribuno’s plan for revenge. You should send along your agents to wait for us just beyond the view from TyrGleipnir. The Quaestor will drive, so your people don’t have an accident on the wrong side of the road. When we return, we will go in together. The Chief Executive of the Civil Aviation Authority is a personal friend of mine; I’ve had him to my estate many times. I can have your clearance with a phone call. This is the fastest way to reach the Riata.” He rested a hand on Mulder’s shoulder. “It is good you are coming with us, Atrebates. Perhaps we can offer you some answers you have long sought.”

Skinner closed his eyes for a moment. “Alright, people, we have a plan.” His gaze met that of each of his agents in turn. “While Agent Pendrell familiarizes himself with the helicopter, we need to collect what physical evidence we can from the rest of the house.” 

Phillips stepped up to the Quaestor. “Which bedroom was hers? That’s the first place to start.” 

He turned to the stairs. “Let me show you.” 

The other agents scattered to search. 

Once they reached the upper floor, the blond man pushed a door open. “She was kept here.” 

Phillips grimaced at the sparkles and pink, then headed directly to the bed to begin stripping the covers. She frowned at the scratches on the walnut headboard, before turning to race to the open entrance. “I’ve found something! Up here!” 

Mulder was through the doorway first. “What? What did you see?” He could only imagine countless horrors, but waited for her to point out her discovery. “Good, Phillips.” He patted her arm before he crossed the room to crouch on the bare mattress. He let out a short bark as Skinner stepped to his side. “Scully.” The invocation was unvoiced. 

The bald Director stared down, then grasped his agent’s shoulder. “She’s sent us a message.” 

Mulder sat cross-legged on the bed, tracing the letters with a long finger. “Good. This is good.” He looked up at his AD. “We can get her back.” 

Rosen and Nichols joined them, then started laughing outright. 

Phillips and Stickle exchanged a glance before the brunette agent frowned. “What does it mean?” 

The letters were: MIAMOKS. 

Rosen snorted one last time. “She’s written, ‘Mulder, I am okay, Scully.” 

One last brush of the marks on the walnut, then the tall agent was on his feet. “Let’s go. I have a faculty meeting to attend.”

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge, England  
Sunday, 8:17 am

“You must wear this one, Atrebates.” Ap Gwinn was holding a grey-cowled robe toward Mulder. “You have the right to enter, as none other of your colleagues, but the Riata, do.”

“Sheesh.” The dark-haired agent grimaced at the thick wool. “I stayed as far away from this stuff as I could at Oxford. Plenty of creative anachronisms there.” As he slipped into the deep sleeves, he sighed. _This one’s for you, Scully._ After engaging the clasp at his throat, he reached back for the hood.

“No need to hide your face, Atrebates. You will be greeted eagerly.” The Cymru removed the silver rising sun from the right shoulder. “This was your Father’s garment, but, you do not walk beside the Slav. You have the signal honor of attending on the Riata.” He was affixing a bronze half sun with twenty wavy rays in its place. 

Mulder rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. We’ve had our chat at the Pony. I’m here to rescue my partner, so let’s get started.”

Ap Gwinn’s lips curved. “All is not as it seems, Atrebates. The form of one thing often conceals the fact of another. You have seen much in your investigations that tells you the same is true without the Suola as well as within.” He grasped the lever of the door handle. “Follow me.” With a twist, he pushed the barrier aside. As they proceeded, the Cymru raised both arms. “We are many, we are one! The Atrebates of the Riata is come into the Ekklesia!” 

The whoosh of robes sliding off thirty-eight seats was followed by an echo of the incantation and extended applause from the Fellowship, some in black and some in grey. 

Mulder found himself being embraced, touched by unseen hands, smiles and nods appearing before his eyes. ‘Brother! Brother!’ sounded in his ears, whispered by some, shouted by others. After initially feeling smothered, the dark-haired agent was surprised by how comforted he felt to be in the center of the assembly. If _Not if, when, G-man_ this worked, he would have a whole new list of teasing names to throw at his partner during their debates. Two pairs of arms guided him to a spot along the wall, close to the front. The empty high seat, with its gilded finials and chalk banner, stood in front of him. 

The Cymru had ascended the dais, his arms still raised. “Brothers and Sisters, I come to you to redress a grievous error we in the Fellowship have committed.” 

The Aborigine strode forward. “The Tribuno deceived us, did he not?” 

“I feared it would be so.” The Suebi was standing in front of his seat. “He was too eager to apply Gradus Absoluta. He is all of war, none of reason. He opposes the good offices of the Riata.” 

The Pict was leaning on his Lion. “She was not offered the choice?” 

The Cymru lowered his arms. “She was not. You have heard, no doubt, of the events at the Embassy in Washington. I was gassed along with all the others.” 

The Mughal shook his turbaned head. “He has attempted to break the Fellowship. That must not be permitted. Any action he promoted must be terminated.” 

Mulder snorted as he stepped forward. “Yeah, yeah, E Pluribus Unum, we are whatever. We don’t have all morning to decide how best to drop a whispering demon-possessed ring in a volcano. I need to get to my partner before my Father’s killer puts a bullet in her brain, too.” 

“You are your Father’s Son, Atrebates. He was all action.” The Suebi drew himself up fully. “I deeply regret bringing that vulture among us. We know what we must do. The Council of Ten must reassemble and deliberate. We must rescind our vote.” 

The Slav strode over to stand beside him. “There is no question. I should have had the wisdom to foresee the outcome of my decision. I have witnessed behaviors over the past seventy-two hours I have not seen since the Communists gave up control over my country. I change my vote to persuasion. It is now eight of the ten in agreement.” 

Ap Gwinn stepped off the dais. “Then, Brother Pict, Brother Suebi, Atrebates, we must return. We have evil work to undo, and quickly.”

\--o-0-o--

Unknown place  
Unknown time

Dana Scully’s first sensation on awakening this day was of throbbing, of dull pain. She lay still, trying to localize it, to determine its severity, but the ache was all over her body. With a gasp, she remembered the pummeling of the previous afternoon. Her head both burned and itched, a single touch revealing why: a new wig had been affixed to her scalp. _No ringlets of curls._ Her hair felt more like it had when she was in college; one glance down at the faded jeans, UMD sweatshirt, and running shoes told that was exactly the stage of her life to be parodied today. _Today when I try to escape, at least I won’t fall._

She rolled out of bed, quickly surveying the barred windows _Ground level. Those must be original._, the NSync and Hansen posters _Really? That’s a miss._ until she spotted the bathroom door. Relieve, clean, drink. As she left, she noted the sharp edge of the door latch. _That will do._ A third parallel line reddened her arm. There was no activity yet, so she had time to plan. She quickly made up the bed, just because; then, in these more comfortable clothes, put herself through warm-up, stretching, and isotonic exercises, her only tools for pain relief. Finally, she settled at the creaking student desk by the window to think the day through. If they held to their past pattern, they would be attempting to excoriate her for giving the right answers to Physics questions, but, there, she could at least control the pace and timing of the negative reinforcement. 

_I’ll take a page out of your book, Mulder, giving them a silent, baffling lecture that will leave their heads spinning._ Her forehead creased. Why did she think of her partner right then? Was the coercive persuasion becoming more effective as the charade approached the years of her working life? Or, was it just that she was preparing for the mental sparring at which he was so adept, that intellectual thrust and parry they had engaged in so very, very often? A crack of paint separating from paint turned her attention back to the entrance to the room. 

“Hey, you’ll be late, come’on!” It was one of the grey-cowled ‘boys’ pretending to be annoyed. 

_Or was his agitation genuine? They don’t know how to play this game, either, remember._ Only the next few hours would tell. With a silent wave, she followed him out the door, then down the stairs. This was a new location, but the open area in the front of the ground level was of similar size as yesterday’s. There were sixteen desks, as before, but the tops folded down, as in most auditorium seating. Two, not one, were empty. The memory of Thorton’s lecture and Mulder’s frequent exhalations beside her blew over her, reminding her that, not long ago, she had been other than she was now. The 'Teacher', too, was different. No longer the upright, emaciated, sharp-nosed woman, but a short, grey-haired, tweed-wearing, bespectacled man with a mustache bushier than Nichols’s. 

The 'Professor' cleared his throat. “Okay, I need a volunteer from the class to explain projectile motion, Anyone?” He made a great show of looking at all the ‘students’ in their seats. 

_Do the unexpected._ Scully raised her hand. 

“Oh, you. Maybe a girl can do this. Probably not.” He pointed at the mobile blackboard. “Let’s see if you’re smart enough. Just don’t start crying when you fail.” 

_Okay, let’s do some poking and prodding, shall we?_ She drew, first, a tilted cannon, then, a stick figure of a man with a ramrod. There were noises from behind her, shifts, creaks. _Good._ She drew a single vector, then broke it down into its components. She drew the arrow again, with an arc and a theta for the angle, showing the changes in the y component caused by the acceleration due to gravity. Working with only the vertical terms, she derived the travel time. The rustling behind her grew. She used the pretense of needing to flip over the board to check the 'Professor'. His face was pulling into a mask, part confusion, part frustration. She was obviously not playing the part he had been told to expect. More scratching of chalk on slate. Finally, she drew a box around the expression for the horizontal range, set down the yellow cylinder, then resumed her seat. 

Silence. No calls of an incorrect answer. No opprobrium. 

The 'Professor' cleared his throat. “Okay, smart girl, Einstein’s twin paradox.” 

_Really? That? How little did they know of my life?_ She walked to the board again. _Mulder, this one’s for you._ She began, in her best cursive, ‘Vlog and Zerg are brothers on Alpha Centauri.’ She drew a cratered planet, then a stick figure on it, as well as a stick figure on a flying saucer. A stray titter emerged from one of the ‘students’ at the rear of the desks. ‘Vlog stays home while Zerg travels to earth and back, approaching the speed of light as he goes.’ She continued, writing relativistic velocity equations, drawing diagrams. She covered both sides of the blackboard, then, again, finishing with derivations of relativistic momentum and mass. She faced the ‘class’ as she pointed to the last equation. The ‘Student’ who had chuckled had thrown back his hood, revealing closely-cropped blond curls and sad brown eyes. 

Scully set down the chalk before beginning the walk to her seat. 

But, the face of the 'Professor' was twisted in rage. “No! No! You’re wrong!” 

She heard the whistle of the pointer, but could not duck in time. It whipped the air repeatedly, stinging her back and shoulders, until, with a snap, it broke in two. 

“Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! You, girl, you are an abomination!” The 'Professor' had his fists clenched as he was glaring down at her. “No lunch for you, girly-girl.” 

Scully could not control the involuntary gasp. _Had the morning been entirely a set-up for the release of that pair of words into my psyche?_

The bushy mustache was inches from her nose. “The others can go outside. But, you. Miss Smarty Pants, you get to stay here and clean the board.” She heard the shuffling and tapping as the grey-cowled men filed out behind her. 

_No, probably not._ After rising shakily to her feet, she walked over to pick up the eraser to begin obliterating the equations and figures. She knew what would be coming, probably tomorrow. The charade would be medical school, but a faux savior would appear, ending the corporeal abuse. It would be then that they would try to convince her that the Forty were her beloved brothers and sisters, that this was all a mistake. But, with Krycek somewhere nearby, this Initiation would not end well. 

“No, with water!” The 'Professor' handed her a bowl with a cloth before pointing to the back of the ‘classroom.’ A modern kitchen, all steel and white tile, was just visible at the end of the hall.

\--o-0-o--

Outside, several of the grey-cowled men were gathered in a little group, while the remainder were wandering aimlessly over the thick grass. The blond Quaestor with the sad brown eyes focused on the four who were in front of him. “She *is* the Riata.”

A series of nods met his acclamation. 

“We need to end this. The Tribuno is on a personal vendetta here, one that will lead to ruin for us and for the Fellowship.” 

Another of the Quaestores threw back his grey hood, revealing a thick shock of dark brown hair over pale green eyes. “This cannot have been a correctly-performed Gradus Absoluta, not with handguns and torture. Those are purely American.”

More nods. 

The blond Quaestor met his gaze. “We are many. We can stop him and overpower the others.” The rest of the fourteen had gathered around to listen intently. “Are we in agreement?” 

“Yes.” The response was offered in unison.

The blond Quaestor pointed to several in the large group. “Then, you four, go surround the 'Professor' and the 'Matron'. This must not continue.” He waved to another knot of men. “You six, seek out the Tribuno. He is, as you said, an American, so his weapon will be his first recourse. Be ready. He will offer serious resistance.” He pointed to the remaining four. “We will go to the Riata, to offer our support. We are many, we are one.” 

“We are many, we are one!” The group scattered.

\--o-0-o--

Scully padded away from the 'Professor', aluminum bowl in hand, the white cloth over her wrist. Once she was standing by the sink, she checked over her shoulder. Since this was the alienation phase of the indoctrination, no one had followed her, so she took a moment for water, then, she used the dish soap to wash her face and neck. _At least three days since my last shower._ She scrubbed her cheeks furiously until they felt truly clean, then picked up the white cloth from where she had dropped it, beside the sink. As she lifted her gaze out of the towel, she saw the back door was open, that one of the jeeps was parked just beyond. _No!_ The keys were still in the ignition of the roofless vehicle. Whether this was a set-up, or a potential escape, she knew she could not pass up the opportunity, especially since she would not be getting far on foot, not now. She dropped the thin cloth, then ran.

“Hey, wait!” 

Scully made no effort to identify the voice. She simply turned the key, then jammed her sneaker-clad foot on the gas, throwing up the soft loam to spin in the air. Screeching the rattling vehicle around the house, she was halfway down the drive when a grey-cowled figure positioned himself in the gateway. She stomped harder on the pedal. If whoever it was had an ounce of self-preservation, they would leap out of her path. She would not hesitate. Not now. 

“Scully! You’d better stop!” Krycek threw back the hood before assuming a firing stance. “I’ll shoot! I’ve done it before!” 

_I know you have, you monster._ She began swerving, side to side, to throw off his aim. 

The weapon lowered, three rounds pinging off the engine block, before flatting the two front tires. The Jeep flipped to skid on its side, shuddering to a halt in front of the dark-haired man. “Scully, give it up!” The tip of his SIG was pressed against her temple. “Now, get out, hands up. I mean it!” 

She scanned the interior of the Jeep, but could identify nothing in her peripheral vision she could press into service as a weapon, so she crawled out the top to stand. She glared back at the SIG. 

He grabbed her by the throat with his free hand. “You’re dead, one way or the other, so stop playing their game.” He wagged the weapon. “Back to the house.” Once she had turned, he clutched the hair of the wig to give it a sharp yank. “Nice and slow, Scully. Nice and slow. Run and you’re dead right here. I’d hate to have to plug you before I get to do it in front of your happy band of agents. I bugged that precious oak-paneled Suola of theirs, so I know they’re just minutes away from rescuing you, but, I will if you make me.” 

Both arms raised, she moved cautiously, scanning the wide drive for any distraction that would let her turn to seize the weapon. 

“Even though they’ll whine, these fancy-pants prisses pretending this is some Medieval parlor game, if you’re dead, they’ll find somebody else to be their Riata. They always have. But, I can’t wait to hear Mulder moaning like a stuck bull over you as you bleed out.” He spun her around by the glued-on hair to scowl into her green-blue eyes. “That’ll be extra-sweet. You should have seen him, trying to get to you on Skyland. How many times did he do you, anyway? A man never goes on and on about a woman like that unless he’s getting some. Hum?” He yanked her head to the left and right several times, making her stagger to keep herself on her feet, then placed the muzzle of the SIG on her curved throat. “Is he that good in the sack, Scully? Is that why you put up with the whining about aliens and the tripped out ranting he passes off as theories?” His grip on the wig tightened as he began twisting her head contemptuously, delighting in how it distorted her features. “Or, is it you who gets frisky when you’re horizontal, little cunt? Do you just spread those stubby Catholic good-girl legs wide and let him drill you deep and hard? Is that why he runs to you every time you whimper?” He spun the gun in his hand until he was clutching the chamber as if it were a steel stone. He landed three punches on her jaw with the weighted fist, but she neither flinched nor gasped. Her stoic silence enraging him further, he plunged the clenched fingers repeatedly, deeply into her abdomen. “How many of his kids did you throw away to keep him, you thoughtless whore?”

The diminutive agent felt a blast of pure sorrow that someone who was so outwardly handsome could be so contemptibly ugly within. It was at that moment, after all the twisting and shoving, that the glue holding the mesh in place tore her skin, releasing red tendrils to run down her forehead. She found herself blinking as she hissed a response she could no longer repress. “That. Is. Not. Who. We. Are.” 

“She speaks!” The dark-haired man snarled as he leveled the SIG to point it at her throat. “Don’t lie to me now, Scully. You can tell me the truth before you die. It can’t be that he actually enjoys debating ideas with you. Your pinched little nasal voice makes me crazy after two words. Besides, women can’t think like men. That’s not what they’re good for. I’ll make him understand that, right before I watch him eat his gun over your corpse. Maybe I should a take a little taste of what he’s been getting all these years.” Shoving the muzzle harder into her neck, he rammed his mouth against hers, then pushed his tongue against her teeth. He growled as he felt her jaw clench tightly shut. Before he pulled back, he bit down, leaving both their lips red. He kicked at her shins while he yanked her head in an attempt to drop her to the ground, but the motion finally ripped the wig off, freeing her to stagger backward. He snarled impatiently at the blood and skin clinging to the mesh. In disgust, he turned to throw the hairpiece away into the thick grass. 

_That’s all I need._ Gritting her teeth against the raw stinging pain that set her vision swimming, Scully balled her fists together to pound the hand with the gun, knocking it to the grass. She followed with a kick up between his legs, then, as he doubled over, pummeled the back of his neck with her joined fingers, the blow slapping his chin against his chest.

“Bitch!” The former Consortium operative fell in a heap, clutching himself. “You evil bitch!” 

She dove for the SIG before he could react. As she rolled to her knees, she instinctively assumed her two-handed firing posture, the muzzle of the gun almost touching the tip of his nose. “Back off, Krycek. You killed my sister and Mulder’s father!” Her voice sounded hoarse, strange in her ears. “I’m going to put you away for the rest of your life for what you did!” She kept the weapon in place as she stood. “Now, back off!” 

He issued a feral laugh. “Yeah, I did Bill Mulder. I didn’t pull the trigger on your sister, but I was there. They dropped like stones.” He held up both palms as he took three steps away from her, but not before they were surrounded by the grey-cowled men. He started to dive for her throat, only to find several pairs of hands reaching out to restrain him. 

The face of the blond man who had shown himself earlier appeared in his line of sight. “Tribuno, you are wrong to threaten the Riata. She holds the Seat Royal.” 

“What?” The dark-haired operative struggled. “I can’t believe that you people really think this! Don’t you already have a queen?” He pulled an arm free. “You people and your love of rules. This is my office. I decide when she’s the Riata, not you.” 

Scully found two grey-robed figures standing between her assailant and herself, facing her, so she lowered the SIG. “Thank you, Quaestores, for your assistance.” _How did I know that was their title?_ Two deep hoods were thrown back, then the cowl-wearers knelt. 

“I can’t believe this!” Krycek was howling now. “Are all of you people insane?” 

The blond man bowed deeply before Scully. “Forgive us, Blessed Riata. You have shown us, by your great heart, that rules are never so absolute that we should abandon thought, discard reason. This man threatened you with death. He threatened an Atrebates, trampling the one unshakeable bond on which we all depend. He admitted to the deaths of those close to you, in the past and the future. He has proven himself completely unworthy of the trust of the Fellowship and his high office. Those of us who only serve will recommend to the Brothers and Sisters he be handed to you, so that in your life in justice beyond the Ekklesia, he can be given the reward he has earned. But, you, when you were reduced to the least among us, showed yourself faithful to what is right, to the truth, without whimper or shout. When you had the means of revenge in your hands, you chose justice and mercy. You have shown us that there is always a better way. We are your humble servants.” He knelt with the others not holding the struggling Krycek.

The diminutive agent studied the exposed faces for the first time, seeing quiet, earnest young men, as her brothers had once been. _Was this part of the indoctrination, or was this for real? A test, then._ “Okay, does anyone have a cell phone I could use?” 

Three black units materialized in front of her. 

She lifted the one in the center free, punching in a number known by heart. The Athens Bureau had issued them both European cell phones at the same numbers as their US ones, so, if the pattern held, this might just work. The buzz, then the click, in her ear told her the call had connected. “Mulder?”

“Scully!” 

The shout was audible to the little knot of grey-cowled men, who glanced at each other. 

She stepped out of the close circle. “Where are you?” 

“Scully?” The question was barely voiced. 

The scratchy, aching tenor had rolled into her ear like a balm, so she settled onto the lawn beside the drive. “That’s still my name, G-man.” She used the inside of the banded hem of her shirt to wipe her face free of the sweat and red. 

“Scully, we’ve just passed through the sparkling bucolic village of High Buston, so we should be to your location in about fifteen minutes.” 

She peered out in both directions at the road. “So, where am I?” 

The silky chuckle was soothing, familiar. “Not where you should be, Doctor.” 

She crossed her arm over her stomach, then, she sobered. “I have him, Mulder.” She glared back at the kneeling Krycek, his hands and ankles now bound by belts. “We have him.” The blond Quaestor had a thick clump of dark hair firmly in the grasp of each hand, while two stood behind him, pushing down on both shoulders. The remaining two had wrapped their belts around each muscled arm, holding him in place while staying out of his potential blows. 

“Yeah. We do.” He coughed. “Listen, Scully, there are people with us he won’t be happy to see. I don’t know how locked down he is, but make certain he can’t take off on you. You have a weapon?” 

“I have his weapon, Mulder. His *Bureau* weapon.” She could hear him passing her comments along to others in the same vehicle as he.

There was that growl-purr again. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ma’am.” The tenor lightened. “Hang tight, Doctor. We’re almost on you.” 

As she terminated the call, she checked the roadway again. In the quiet, she could hear the beating of the helicopter rotors, but could see nothing. After tucking the SIG in her jeans pocket, she individually thanked the grey-cowled Quaestores gathered around Krycek, while keeping a good distance between herself and the struggling dark-haired man. Finally, she spotted two black SUV’s hurtling past the rolling fields, an Airbus H175 whiffling along behind them, so she staggered partway down the drive to meet them separately. The vehicles skidded to a halt where she stood, the tall agent throwing himself out the passenger door of the first. Behind the SUV’s, the helicopter blades were slowing as the landing struts settled into the loam. 

His forehead deeply furrowed, Mulder was beside his partner in three leaping steps. “Scully?” His hands hovered over her bare scalp before pulling her delicately into his arms. “Oh, Scully. What they did to you. What they did.” The oozing scrapes and dark blotches on her head and face kept him from instinctively tucking her under his chin, so he stepped back to hold her by both shoulders. “We found your message.” He crouched to check her face, trying to bring the hazel level with the green-blue. “Are you really okay? Really?”

She turned her chin up firmly. “Yes.” Feeling the battering of the past few days, she wobbled toward him. “Sorry. Tired. Haven’t eaten.” She sent him a tiny quirk of her cheek.

Pressing her against his chest, he sighed as she reached around his waist, then cast about in his mind for a tease that would buoy her. “You little hell-raising Pinhead, you. Talk to me.” 

She rested her bruised cheek against his shoulder for a moment, drawing strength from the respite he offered her, before stepping back out of his hands. “After a bottle of Advil and a long soak in a hottest water I can stand, I will be, G-man.” Seeing the others gathering, she turned. “Cymru, are you alright?” 

Ap Gwinn bowed deeply at the waist. “I am now.” He extended his arm toward two white-haired men emerging from the now-silent helicopter, one striding forward freely, the other leaning on a lion cane as they approached. Then, awed at her composure, he gazed back at her. “See, more of your Brothers are here to welcome you to the Fellowship, Gracious Riata.”

She reached out to the taller white-haired man. “Brother Suebi. So good you are here.” 

The elongated face bowed as he took her hands between his reddened fingers. “Riata. Your Agent Pendrell provided us the smoothest flight back I’ve ever taken. A marvel.” 

She sent a quick smile of gratitude to Arthur, who simply nodded as he clutched Terry Phillips under one arm, his helmet beneath the other, before dropping his gaze from Scully’s battered form. 

The man leaning on the cane with the Celtic lion stepped forward. “You were gone from us. From me. You were no longer visible.” 

She rested her fingers on the hand holding the alder. “Brother Pict. Dear, Faithful Brother.” 

Mulder eyed his partner silently, then placed a palm on her side. “How do you know him, Scully?”

She turned to look up into the darkening hazel. “I just do, somehow.”

As she faced the Pict again, he sent her a broad smile, deepening creases around his warm green eyes. “Riata, ancient Queen of ancient Queens, you have returned.” He propped the lion against his hip so he could wrap her face in both his soft hands, then lowered her forehead to brush his lips against it gently, before, with a sigh, he leaned back. He held her by the shoulders through several long breaths before he released her to grasp the cane again.

The white-haired Suebi crossed to where Krycek was kneeling, surrounded by the Quastores. “You lied to us, Tribuno. You said the Riata had been offered a choice. She had not. This is all your doing, this prolonged session of torture. We have taken a vote, we of the Ten. This initiation is illegitimate, and we shall proceed with persuasion, as we always should have, not your horrific coercion. You are stripped of your office and your association with the Ekklesia is terminated, permanently. You will be cast out, abandoned. The Riata will take you, and she and the Atrebates in their lives on the outside will see to it that justice is done on the other side of the pond.” 

“Honored Suebi, a word.” The blond Quaestor moved to stand at his right shoulder. “You are wise. The Tribuno is false, bent purely on vengeance. He threatened to kill the Riata, her Atrebates, and all of us in the Ekklesia. But, the Riata has proven herself true to all of those of us here. She is as she was seen to be, and more. Do not discount the judgment from this process because of who initiated it.” 

The Pict stepped over to him. “Tell me more, Faithful Friend. Tell me of the proofs.” The pair were walking away from the main circle of cowled men as they spoke. 

“Guys!” Scully trotted over to the small clutch of FBI agents. “You came?” 

Nichols glanced at Rosen. “Wouldn’t want to miss this picnic, Scully.” He grasped both her hands before hugging her as delicately as Mulder had. 

Holding out both arms, the brunette astronomer claimed her attention next. “Hey, Scully, don’t let him get you down.” 

Snug in the younger woman’s muscled embrace, she bit her lip for a moment. “I haven’t had a bath in a week. I’m sorry.” 

“Shh, shh. Not a problem. Shh.” Rosen rubbed her short spine carefully before stepping away. 

“Sir?” Scully looked up at the bespectacled Director. “Sir, how was Agent Mulder in my absence?” 

A flick of brown eyes toward the tall man, a half-step behind his partner. “About as you might think, Agent Scully.” He gazed down at her gently from behind the lenses. “You will be well?” His right hand reached for her elbow, but he let it drop to his side without contacting the cloth. 

She straightened. “I will, Sir.” 

Stickle, Pendrell, and Phillips moved forward, but the Suebi’s shout called their attention away. 

“Tribuno! You cannot be serious. No!” 

“Krycek!” The dark-haired agent’s bellow snapped around the heads of those on the lawn. The partners were running, side by side, Skinner just behind them. The former operative had worked his wrists and ankles free of the leather to wrestle with the white-haired man. Light flashed off clouded metal in the hands of the two. 

“Stop!” Scully dove for his waist as Mulder reached for the straps hanging from his arms. 

“Drop it.” The tall man’s barely-voiced growl forced Krycek to comply. The former operative staggered backward as the dark-haired agent began shaking his cuffs free of his pocket. Once the restraints were in place, Mulder bent to the younger man’s ear. “We have proof you killed my Father, Krycek. You won’t be able to weasel your way out of this one. You’re going to go away for a long, long time.” 

The former operative sagged in the agent’s hands, trying to free himself to run.

But the Suebi was holding an ancient service revolver at the younger man’s head. “You threaten the safety of every member of the Forty, Tribuno? All those on whom we depend? Then, this is the only justice you’ll ever know.” 

Scully twisted to reach for the age-spotted hands. “No, Suebi, No. We have him. We have him!” She pulled the weapon toward the ground moments before it discharged three times. “We-” A grunt, then she crumpled into motionlessness. 

Mulder tossed the handcuffed Krycek at Skinner. “Scully! No! Scully!”

\--o-0-o--

End - Chermera - Chapter VII - Once Upon A Time


	8. Fall Out

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chapter VIII – Fall Out 

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

The President: We have just witness two forms of revolt. The first, uncoordinated youth,  
rebelling against nothing it can define. The second, an established,  
successful, secure member of the establishment, turning upon and biting  
the hand that feeds him. Whether these actions are dangerous, they  
contribute nothing to our culture and are to be stamped out! 

Hooded, masked audience applauds wildly. The masks are half black, and half white.  
The President strikes the gavel on the pad once. The green eye on the rocket labeled  
‘1’ starts flashing, and the screen shows two real estate agents removing the ‘For Sale’  
sign from the fence in front of The Prisoner’s townhouse. 

The President: (speaking over video of the townhouse) At the other end of the scale, we  
are honoured to have with us (The Prisoner watches from the seat of honour)  
a revolutionary of different caliber. He has revolted, resisted, fought, held  
fast, maintained, destroyed resistance, overcome coercion. The right to be  
person, someone, or individual. We applaud his private war and concede  
that despite materialistic efforts, he has survived intact and secure. All that  
remains is, recognition of a man, a man of steel, a man magnificently  
equipped to lead us, that is, lead us, or go. In this connection, we have  
a prize (treasure chest is rolled in on a cart by a masked hooded figure). You  
will see that your home is being made ready. Above and beyond this, we  
have the means for you to desert us and go anywhere (the chest on the cart  
is stopped in front of The Prisoner). Key to your house. Traveler’s cheques, a  
million. Passport, valid for anywhere. And, uh, petty cash. You are free to go.  
The Prisoner: Free to go.  
The President: Anywhere.  
The Prisoner: Why?  
The President: You have been such an example to us.  
The Prisoner: Why?  
The President: You have convinced us of our mistake.  
The Prisoner: (growls) Why?  
The President: You’re pure; you know the way, show us.  
The Prisoner: (cheerfully) Why?  
The President: Your revolt is good and honest. You are the only individual. We need you.  
The Prisoner: I see.  
The President: You do. You see all.  
The Prisoner: I’m an individual?  
The President: You are on your own.  
The Prisoner: I fail to see.  
The President: All about you is yours. We concede. We offer. We plead for you to lead us.  
The Prisoner: Or go.  
The President: Go if you wish.  
The Prisoner: I, I don’t know.  
The President: Take the stand. Address us.  
The Prisoner: Should I?  
The President: You must. You are the greatest. Make a statement, a true statement which  
could only be yours, but for us. Remember us, don’t forget us. Keep us in  
mind. There, we are all yours. 

The Prisoner descends from the seat of honour, takes the passport, traveler’s cheques, key,  
and petty cash. To the ecstatic applause of the robed, masked audience, he crosses the room,  
ascends the President’s podium, bows to the audience, pockets the petty cash, strikes the  
gavel once, and begins to speak. 

The Prisoner: I-

The audience shouts ‘I’ repeatedly and raucously. After several attempts to begin to speak,  
each time beginning with ‘I’, and each time, being drowned out by the shouting, repeating  
audience, The Prisoner simply continues to speak. Any words he says are lost in the shouts  
of the audience as the President looks on, a smug expression on his face. The Prisoner finishes,  
as the audience is on its feet, still shouting ‘I’ repeatedly. 

The President: (raises hand, audience cheers, quiets, and sits) There, on behalf of us all,  
we thank you.

The Prisoner looks down, confused. 

The President: And, now I take it, you are prepared to meet, uh, Number One. 

The Prisoner still looks confused. 

The President: Follow me, if you would be so kind, Sir. 

The Prisoner turns, looks back at the now silent audience, descends the steps of the  
podium, and follows the President as “The Bear Went Over the Mountain” plays. 

Fall Out

\-----o-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------o-----

Tyrgleipnir, Northumbria  
Sunday, July 19, 1998  
1:03 pm 

Alex Krycek struggled against Walter Skinner’s hold. “Hey, let me go! This was all their idea!” He tried kicking at the loam, but, the former Marine had him in a hammerlock. 

“I doubt that.” The bald Director flicked his eyes toward the dark-haired agent, who was hovering over his supine partner. “Talk to me, Mulder!” 

But the tall man heard nothing except Scully’s rattling gasps, saw nothing but the blood on the right side of her chest, and, incredibly, her green-blue eyes locked on his gaze. “Scully?” 

“Mulder, listen to me. Mulder?” 

Tearing off his FBI jacket to ball it up, he pressed the black canvas against the spreading red. “Okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“Mulder!” 

He focused on her face. “Scully?” 

She grasped his right wrist with her left hand. “This isn’t fatal.” She coughed. “Keep the compression in place. Push down hard. It won’t hurt any worse than it already does.” As he complied, her lips set in a firm line, since the pain had morphed her words of encouragement into shouting lies. 

Nichols bent over them both. “Mulder? Scully?” 

They twisted to look up at him. 

The ASAC was grasping both his knees to keep himself upright. “We can have you to a hospital in Newcastle in twenty minutes, a half an hour, tops. Ap Gwinn is getting the airspace cleared to the trauma center there.” 

Behind them, they could hear the rotors spinning up. 

Mulder checked back over his shoulder. “Sir?” 

Skinner set his jaw firmly. “He’s not going anywhere. Look to your partner, Agent Mulder.” 

He squeezed the jacket into a smaller ball, before bending close to his partner’s ear. “Scully, you’re panting, but I can barely hear you breathing.” 

Her grip on his wrist tightened. “Pneumothorax. My right lung has collapsed.” The alto was breathy and raspy. “It sounds worse than it is. Mulder, Krycek’s gun is in my pocket. You need to take it out and hang onto it before I go into surgery.” 

He looked up helplessly, finally catching Rosen’s eye. 

She knelt beside them both. “Okay, what do you two need?” 

He gestured with his head toward the bulge in his partner’s jeans pocket. “That’s Krycek’s gun. We need it for evidence. Make sure you don’t lose it, Rosen.” 

The brunette astronomer slid the weapon out to tuck it in her waistband. “I won’t. I know how important it is. But, we need to move Scully to the helicopter.” She twisted to look up at her former partner, standing over them all, then at the others gathering around. 

Stickle was hovering in the middle of the lawn, looking pale and lost. Feeling at loose ends, Terry Phillips, waiting a few feet away, was watching Pendrell in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter.

Nichols waved them over. “Agent Stickle, Agent Phillips. Go into the house and see if you can find something we can move Scully on.” 

Suddenly focused, the blond Agent grabbed the nearest Quaestor by the arm. “Help me with this.”

Phillips, her jaw firm, was sprinting toward the back entrance.

The grey-cowled man looked to the Suebi, who was swaying on his feet, his hands still on his face, blocking his view of the horror he had unleashed, so the Quaestor turned to several of the others. “Search for a board, or even a light tabletop. Hurry! This is for the Riata!” They scrambled back over the lawn. 

The Pict and the blond Quaestor emerged from behind the side of the building, their faces registering only curiosity as to the source of the explosions they had heard. But, their composure fell away to shock at the scene in front of them. The man with the lion cane headed toward his supine Riata, only to be waylaid by Rosen, who quickly briefed him on the situation. A single nod of a white head, then he turned to approach the Suebi. After a short conversation, the Pict directed the blond Quaestor toward the house. When the younger man emerged with the others, they were carrying a stretcher, stored at Tyrgleipnir between village rugby tournaments, toward the woman on the ground. As the pathologist was rushed toward the helicopter, the Pict again approached the Suebi, now clutching his knees in a huddle on the grass. The man with the lion cane rested a hand on his Brother’s shoulder, as the rotors spun up, then the Riata, her Atrebates, Agent Arthur Pendrell, and Professor Andrea Rosen were borne into the sky.

\--o-0-o--

142 Curie Avenue  
University City  
San Diego, CA  
Sunday, 4:37 am

Sandra Miller bent over the sleeping Jerry Donato, who was stretched out on her sofa. “Hey. It’s okay.” She pressed down on his shoulder as the black-haired man, eyes still closed, was feeling around for his weapon. “Really. We’re okay.” 

He swung his feet, still in their black socks, to the floor. “What? Sandie?” 

She settled beside him. “You don’t need to check the windows and doors again, Jerry, I just heard from Andrea Rosen. They’re on a case in the UK, which is why I couldn’t reach Fox when I landed.”

He blinked at her several times. “No more information than that? Nothing about the British Embassy in DC?” He fumbled for the remote. “We saw Director Skinner and Agent Mulder outside, but not Agent Scully. There has to be a connection.” As the screen flared into brightness, the CNN logo swirled, but the ‘Breaking News’ was about a fire on a cruise ship. “Shoot, they’ve moved on.” 

Sandra picked Salazar up off the floor to cuddle his vibrating body. “That’s what twenty-four hour news is all about: flit, flit, flit. They did manage to focus on it for five days, but nothing new was being released. Next it’ll be some celebrity divorce, just watch.” Tuggles trotted past the screen, then circled several times, the fan tail waving in the blue light. “I’ll feed them. It’s the only way we can get some peace and quiet, now.” The British Shorthair still in her arms, she rose. 

He followed along behind her. “Sandie, I’m sorry.” The black-haired detective watched as Salazar pushed off her chest to leap into the kitchen ahead of her. Both felines settled to wait, blinking while they bobbed expectantly. 

Having scraped breakfast onto one plate, she was piling food onto the other, but stopped, fork in mid-air, to look over at him. “Whatever for, Jerry?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck as he leaned against the counter. “Ah. I was worried. I overreacted when your brother called.” 

She sent him a lop-sided grin as the white plates lowered to the floor. “Don’t fret, Jer.” She brushed his shoulder with hers as she began rinsing out the container. “I’ve been positively spoiled these past three weeks. You’ve been here when you weren’t on duty. Mom and Max and Fox were so attentive. Mom just watched me work.” She smiled gently. “Max was so happy to trot out the Fluid Dynamics he had learned in Vienna over dinner. Fox was my goofy brother again, finally.” 

The thick-chested detective pushed her loose curls back off her face, then over her shoulder. “Some people deserve it, Sandie.” 

The can rattled as it and its lid dropped into the recycling bin. She stepped close to him. “Jerry.” She landed a quick kiss on his nose before squeezing dishwashing soap into the sink, a faint lavender scent rising as it hit the hot water. “You don’t have to sleep on the sofa like a watchful knight. Head upstairs for a few more hours, if you want. The sheets on the guest bed were washed before I left for Santorini.” 

He reached toward her elbow, then dropped his hand to his side. “Ah, I should go home and get showered and changed. It’s roll call at seven, and you have to get to campus to work on your papers.” He watched her finish washing utensils and dishes in silence, then found himself lifting a red checked towel off a hook to apply to the standing crockery. 

When the plates and fork were tucked away, she took the cloth from his fingers to dry her hands, then dropped it on the counter. “Jerry.” She was studying his face carefully. “I wanted to give you this, but there was too much going on when I landed.” She slipped diffidently to his side. “Close your eyes.” 

He held his breath as he complied. The brush of her lips on his was tentative, then firm and warm. He wrapped his arms around her cinch waist as hers encased his thick shoulders. He had not expected this now, but pulled her tightly against him nonetheless. 

“Yeow!” The insistent pronouncement from the floor set them both laughing as they leaned against each other for a few more moments.

Still smiling, Jerry released Sandra. “Kids. Gotta love’em.” He grasped her cheek briefly, then turned to head to the sofa. “See you tonight, Professor.” He was wiggling into his leather shoes as she walked to the door to grasp the latch.

\--o-0-o--

Royal Victoria Infirmary  
Great North Trauma and Emergency Center  
Newcastle-on-Tyne, UK  
Sunday, 1:29 pm

Fox Mulder staggered into the waiting area with Andrea Rosen striding purposefully on his heels. 

A nurse in green scrubs looked up at their arrival. “Gurney!” She crossed the room to the agents. “Sir, where are you injured?” 

He glanced down his shirt, red on white, before shaking his head. “I’m okay. It’s my partner, Dana Scully. She was just brought in with a gunshot wound to the chest. You need to know her condition.” 

The tiny woman smiled gently at him. “Oh, yes, you’re the American FBI agents who just landed. We’ve been expecting you. We have her in surgery now, so, have a seat. I’ll be there to take her information shortly.” She turned to trot back to the nursing station.

He was reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “You’ll need this.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him. “You shan’t have to worry about your card, this is the UK. I just need to know if she’s on any medications. She was conscious and communicative when she was brought into surgery, so they know in OR, but it will be required to tailor the rest of her treatments. Have a seat, both of you.” 

The brunette astronomer watched her walking briskly away. “They’ve been expecting us?” 

He sagged into a nearby chair. “The guy with the lion cane is the MP for Inverness, and a couple of other places I don’t remember right now.” He sighed. “Yeah, Strathspey, that was one of them. He grabbed his cell phone on the way out of their chamber, so he’s probably the one who made the connection.” At her wrinkled forehead, he sent her a lop-sided grin. “He’s House of Commons, Scottish Nationalist Party, Rosen. Three hours is a long flight with two men old enough to be my Dad. Once the pair of them found out I went to Oxford, suddenly I wasn’t such a hopelessly ignorant American, and they started chattering to me as if we were all old school chums.” 

As she settled beside him, she crossed her black-clad legs at the ankles. “That’s the one who acted like he knew Scully, right?” 

Mulder was rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb, attempting to project a confidence he didn’t necessarily feel. “Yeah, and she knew him, too, somehow. The Doctor and I will need to have a little chat when she’s up and around. There’s a lot more to this organization than we understand.” 

As the nurse approached, clipboard in hand, Rosen took out her cell phone. “I’m calling Nic, Mulder. We need to get you out of that shirt.” At his startled glance, she gestured with her head to two women waiting several rows across from them. “They keep stealing looks over here, checking that red on you, and looking back to the nurse’s station.” 

With a snort, he slid the typewritten list Scully had made up in Atlantis from his wallet, then unfolded the triangle into a thin strip.

\--o-0-o--

Royal Victoria Infirmary  
Great North Trauma and Emergency Center  
Newcastle-on-Tyne, UK  
Sunday, 4:53 pm

Phil Nichols entered the waiting area at the same time as the double glass doors rolled open. He watched as the surgeon and Mulder crossed the space, meeting in the center. 

The grey-haired doctor was slipping off his cap. “You’re the agents from the Bureau?” 

“How is she?” Practically nose to nose with a man almost as slender as himself, Mulder had his fists on his hips. “When can I see her?” 

The physician cocked a still-dark eyebrow. “I forget how pushy we Americans can be. She’s out of the woods. We’ll need to leave the tube in place while the lung repairs itself and we monitor the internal damage from the gunshot wound, but it’s not nearly as bad as some I’ve worked on. The bullet missed her scapula and her spinal column, but grazed two of her ribs. It cracked one, but not the other. Since neither shattered, we didn’t have the amount of internal bleeding that can happen. As for when you can see her, she’s in recovery right now. When we’re sure she’s stable, she’ll be moved to a regular room.”

Mulder was shaking his head. “She’s my partner. That’s-” 

“Fine, Chief. That’s fine.” The balding Montanan took hold of Mulder’s arm. “She’s in good hands.” 

The hazel flicked from one man’s face to the other. “No. I need-” 

The surgeon sighed. “Okay, my brother-in-law is Bureau, so I know how you guys operate. Only, just for a few minutes. I’ll take you in and bring you out, but, that’s it. No more.” 

“Mulder-” Rosen stopped at a sharp backward glare. 

The glass parting ahead of them, the dark-haired agent walked side by side with the surgeon. “You’re American? Doctor?” 

“George Harris, the father, not the son.” The grey-haired man eyed the tall agent as his lips quirked. “From Los Angeles. My wife and I moved here about three years ago for her engineering professorship. It’s easier doing emergency work here. Better hours, a lot more support, and many fewer cases. This is the first gunshot wound I’ve seen since we had an accidental weapons discharge flown down from the Hebrides a couple of years ago.” They fell into silence as they walked, only the sounds of their footsteps ringing in the brightly-lit corridor. Harris stopped by a glass wall with a view into a recovery room. “She’s here. The orderlies have her settled and in good order.” 

Mulder propped one hand on the steel frame as he checked inside. His partner was still under an oxygen mask, tubes running out of her chest, monitors hooked to her forehead, chest, and fingertip, gauze wrapping her scalp. An IV was pumping fluids into her left arm. Minus the mocking figure in his nightmare, this was exactly the scene that had awakened him in terror in the night to send him stumbling out of his apartment to her. He whispered her name once. 

Holding out a face mask and latex gloves, Harris touched the dark-haired man’s shoulder. “Here. Put these on and come with me as I check her vitals.” He was fastening his own mask in place as the agent wiggled the sheaths on his fingers. “Tell me, why was she so dehydrated?” 

“She’d been taken hostage, flown across the Atlantic, and confined for the past four days. She’d tried several escapes, which probably didn’t sit well with her captors.” The tall agent looked over somberly. “The gunshot happened while we were apprehending a suspect.” 

The grey-haired man eyed him. “We, as in both of you? Her injuries and physical condition, outside of the gunshot, would have debilitated many people.” 

Mulder shrugged. “Yeah. Most of our team from the States was there as well. But when she gets her back up, it’s best to just roll with it.” He sent the surgeon a grim smile.

Harris chuckled as he stepped through the entry. “Sounds like she comes by that red hair honestly.” 

“She does.” The dark-haired agent lapsed into silence, since he had passed into the room. He wrapped both his hands around her left palm, before noticing the traces reading out on the screen by his face. “Why are you monitoring her brainwaves? She didn’t have brain damage, did she? She had suffered a slight concussion a few months ago. If that-” 

Without looking up from his check of the incision with the tubes, Harris shook his head. “It’s just a precaution, with all that trauma to her face and skull. She was very alert when she was brought in, asking a lot of questions and giving directions. She told us about the injury from the Courthouse explosion. I didn’t recognize her as the FBI Agent the media were discussing at the time. But, she was able to list the medication dosages she takes exactly, so there likely wasn’t further injury.” 

Mulder found himself smiling behind the mask. “She’s a pathologist. She probably told you that at least three times before you put her out. She had been giving me EMT instructions throughout the helo ride here.” One long finger ran down her battered jawline. “Looks like we’re even in the rib count, right, Doctor?” The tenor was barely voiced.

Now, Harris glanced over before he chuckled. “Oh, you mean your partner, not myself.” He straightened. “I’m done. We should go, Agent?” 

“Mulder.” The hazel was still fixed on her face, but both hands were enclosing her fingers again. “Yeah. She. The Doctor.” 

“As many lives as?” 

“Seems like it, so far.” He sighed. 

“We should let her rest, Agent Mulder.” 

“Yeah, sure.” He was running his thumb along the prickly lines on her brows, trying to smooth them down. _They even shaved those off?_

“Agent Mulder?” 

At the tap on his wrist, the dark-haired man looked up. “Yeah?”

“That means you need to let go.” 

“Okay.” Reluctantly, he straightened her fingers on the sheets before stepping back. 

Harris held out his arm. “Not a problem. I know what it’s like to have a fierce woman in one’s life.” More than that, he would not presume. They walked out side-by-side. “Agent Mulder, it’ll be a few hours. You-” As his name was called over the intercom, he patted the tall man’s shoulder. “I don’t have to tell you the way.”

\--o-0-o--

Walter Skinner was pacing when Mulder returned to the waiting area. As he emerged, the bald Director crossed to stand in front of him. “What is her condition?” He had no idea how his agent had finagled a trip past the operating theatre doors, but, after so many years, was no longer surprised by it.

The dark-haired man crossed his arms, the mask and gloves dangling from his fingers. “She’s in recovery right now, Sir. She’s not yet awakened, but the Doctor says she’ll make it.” 

The Assistant Director put his hands on his hips, pushing his black FBI jacket behind them. “Ap Gwinn has arranged for Agents Pendrell, Phillips, Stickle, and myself to take the Embassy Gulfstream back to the States. We have Marshals standing by to accompany Krycek to federal prison to await a preliminary hearing. Doctor Rosen gave me his gun. Do you still have the slug from your Father?” 

Mulder extracted the plastic-encased bullet from his wallet to drop it in the waiting palm. It seemed like an age since his partner had handed it off to him in West Tisbury. “He’ll serve time for one of his murders, anyway. What we do for Agent Scully’s sister, I don’t know. The bullet was removed and discarded during her emergency surgery, according to Mrs. Scully.” 

The bald man offered a silent huff. “One is sufficient, Agent. The threat of life in prison loosens many tongues, and the Smoker has let him hang out there long enough.” Once the evidence was secured, Skinner gritted his teeth. “Now, I’m giving you an order, Mulder. Nichols and Rosen are staying behind to back you two up. ASAC Nichols has a hotel room. I’m requiring that you let him drive you there for a shower and several hours rest. Is that clear?” 

The balding Montanan took the younger man by the elbow. “Come on, Chief. Ros will let us know if there’s any change, or when she’s moved to the private room. You’ve been running on stale coffee and adrenaline fumes since you landed at Dulles.” 

Rosen made shooing motions toward the door. “I’d alerted Cynthia so she’s aware of all the travel schedules. I also took it upon myself to check in with Sandra, Mulder, while we waited outside Tyrgleipnir for you to get back from Cambridge. No details, just that you and Scully had been called overseas suddenly on a case, and that you were fine, which relieved her mind. She’d been trying to contact you for several days, at X-Files East, your apartment, and your cell.”

He checked the phone in his pocket numbly, quickly scrolling through the messages and missed calls. “She’s okay, right?” 

Nichols was tugging on his arm. “You can ring her as we drive, Chief, how’s that?”

\--o-0-o--

over the Atlantic  
Sunday, 11:36 pm

“We’re still on British soil! This airplane is in the custody of the Foreign Office. I want asylum, and I want it now!” Krycek was twisting on the leather seat, his wrists cuffed separately to the supports for the padded arms. 

Walter Skinner set his face in a mask. The dark-haired man had been shouting since they had climbed on-board, but, with nearly eight hours left in the flight, he could no longer stand the noise. “Krycek!” He stalked to the back of the plane. “Enough! You know the pilot is American, and the Bureau took over the rental on the ground. Your claim has no standing here. Be quiet. You’re on US soil, surrounded by US citizens. You will be charged with the attempted murder of one American citizen. You admitted to murdering another, and being an accessory to a third, all unprompted, and all in front of witnesses.” 

The dark-haired man tried to throw himself at the Assistant Director, but only succeeded in bruising his wrists in his fury. “These witnesses! I have a right to hear their statements! Where are they?” 

A long, frustrated sigh escaped the bald man. “You will hear them where you are entitled to hear them: from your attorney, Krycek. Not now. You know this.” He leaned over until his bared teeth were a fraction of an inch from the younger man’s nose. “Now, be quiet.” 

“Or what, Skinner, you’ll throw me out of the plane?” 

A snort, then, shaking his head, the bespectacled Director walked away. His gaze fell on the entwined hands of Arthur Pendrell and Terry Phillips, seated side-by-side about mid-way up the short aisle. He found himself missing Sharon, so sent them a nod as he passed. 

Pendrell wrapped an arm around his spouse. “You going to be okay with all this, Ter?” 

She leaned into his embrace. “Yes. Not exactly what I expecting for our first case, but then, I guess I should get used to it.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Will Dana be okay? There was so much blood, more than I’m used to coming out of a living person.” 

He found himself unable to refrain from hugging her tightly. “Director Skinner made certain she was out of danger before we left. She has a long road to recovery, but, she’s in good hands.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “She’ll be okay, hum?” 

Terry nodded. “Okay. I’ll be glad to be home, finally. Who would have thought we’d be crossing half the planet in a little over a month.” 

He smiled as she settled. “Yeah. Not like just working in a lab.” 

In the front of the plane, Bill Stickle was chewing his lower lip. “Director Skinner?” 

The bald man shifted in his seat, then eyed him. “Yes, Agent Stickle?” 

“What happens now?” 

Skinner’s dark brows drew together. “We take Krycek back and start assembling our case against him. Agents Mulder and Scully, ASAC Nichols, and Professor Rosen will be in the UK for at least a month, so we’ll attend the legal side of the proceedings while they’re away.” He leaned toward the younger man. “You did well, Stickle. Your father would be proud of how you handled yourself on your first case, so put your mind at ease. You’ll make a fine Agent.” He settled back, hoping this reassurance was sufficient for the situation. 

Stickle ran a hand through his blond curls. “Thank you, Sir. I’m relieved to hear you say that. I wish Dad were still here so I could discuss it with him.” 

The bespectacled director gazed out the window. “It’s good you think so, Agent Stickle. Your father was a mentor to me, back in the day. He had his own quirks, but he was an honorable man, and was as fine an officer as I’ve worked with over the years.” 

A flash of a grin crossed the younger man’s features. “Dad had quirks? He was also so stone-cold G-man at home. Always so Eliot Ness.” 

The older man’s eyes lightened. “Let me tell you some stories, Stickle. It will help pass the time.”

\--o-0-o--

Royal Victoria Infirmary  
Great North Trauma and Emergency Center  
Newcastle-on-Tyne, UK  
Monday, July 20, 1998  
7:17 pm

Dana Scully took a deep breath. For the first time in days, she no longer felt cold, but she could hear an annoying beeping. She lay still, attempting to work out just how long she had been confined, before she remembered: attempting to flee, fighting with Krycek, Mulder arriving with SUV’s and a helicopter, gasping for air. She heard the woop, woop, woop of helicopter blades, saw the dark, anxious face of her partner gazing down at her, his hands pressed against her chest, his hoarse tenor attempting to soothe them both, being in an operating room, debating with, someone. Then, this. She opened her eyes to check around her. The beeping was her heartbeat, strong and regular, jabbing spikes upward on traces, an IV bag suspended on her left. There was still a tube in her chest, which her clinician’s mind found unsurprising, given the pneumothorax. 

She tried lifting her right hand, but it pulled the muscles in her chest around sutures, so she let it drop. When she attempted to move her left, she felt warmth wrapping her palm, heard a body shifting. _Mulder._ “Hey.” The hand moved up, grasping her shoulder, then sliding behind her neck, leaving the thumb free to trace her cheekbone. “Mulder?” 

He was wearing a grin, but his eyes were deeply troubled. “I’m here, Scully.” 

She focused on his jaw. “You had a chance to shave?” 

He nodded as he lifted his fingers to his chin. “Those two tyrants we trained wouldn’t hear otherwise. They fed me and made me sleep. In a bed.” He smiled softly. 

She clucked, then rocked her head from side to side on the pillows. “No raises for them this year.” She reached up to wrap her fingers around his palm, but winced. The flexing shifted the IV needle, so she dropped her hand to the sheets. “Where’s Krycek?” 

He leaned back, adjusting his seat until he could grasp her arm, Roman-style. “In the hoosegow. Skinner flew him back there, with Pendrell, Phillips, and Stickle. There’s a preliminary hearing in a couple of weeks, which we may or may not make.” 

She smiled gently down at him, then sobered. “Mulder, we need to talk.” 

He leaned forward to resume rubbing her cheek with his thumb. “When you’re better, Scully.” 

She shook her head. “No. Now while we have the time.” 

Both dark eyebrows arched as he settled back. “Okay. What’s on your mind?” 

She rotated her wrist to clutch the arm lying under hers at the elbow. “First, thank you, Mulder. Thank you for not giving up. After that first day, when I heard them saying that someone was coming, I knew it had to be you.” 

His face reddened as he blinked rapidly several times. “Give up, Scully? On you? Never. You should know that by now.” He bent forward. “What else?” 

She tried sitting up, but fell back on the pillows. “Second, whatever the Forty want from me, they can get it by coming to us at X-Files East, like any other organization would. I’m an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigations, not their dal Riata, whatever that means. I think they have resources we can’t pass up, but, it’s on our terms, not theirs.” She shook the arm under hers. “Okay?” 

He opened his mouth, but said nothing. 

“Mulder?” 

The hazel cleared, then his lips began twitching. “So, I’m not your Atrebates, your Sam Gamgee, following you to Mount Doom, bringing you Lembas in bed, fixing you tater and coney stew?” 

“Back before anyone could possibly have known about potatoes in England?” 

They both burst out laughing.

She could see his eyes were dancing. “How many times did you read Rings, anyway? I’ve lost count over the years.” 

He let out a final bark. “Just once, but I enjoyed them too much to read them again. I wonder if they’ll ever try to make movies out of those books.” 

One cheek quirked. “Besides Ralph Bakshi? They’ll never be as good, but, then, they never are.” She started coughing. “Sorry. Can’t get too silly just yet.” 

“Third?” 

“Third, I think we need to-” 

“Scully? Mulder?” Nichols’s gravel floated in from the hall. “There’s a problem out at Tyrgleipnir and the other two estates where you were held.” 

She tried pushing herself upright again, but her partner was there, using the controls to raise the head end of the bed. 

“What’s going on?” Mulder rested a protective hand on her left shoulder. 

The older man chewed his mustache for a moment. “There were fires at all three, last night. No one can locate the Suebi, or the man who was his chief servant for thirty odd years, Frijdolf. The people who were involved in your initiation have all gone to ground, so the Yard wants to send someone to interview you, Scully. You’re their only witness.” 

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll try to offer what help I can, but, there wasn’t much I saw. When do they want to do this?” 

The balding Montanan sighed. “Now that you’re awake, they’re not going to want to wait. Do you feel up to this, or, should I try to hold them off for a day or so?” 

“Give us a day.” The dark-haired agent frowned. 

She shook her head. “Mulder, they may lose clues, or-” 

His reply was initially a growl. “Scully, you’ve got tubes in your chest, thanks to that old man falling prey to Krycek’s machinations.” 

She held herself rigid. “He deserves justice, just like anyone else. Besides, if we don’t help them, they’ll just extradite Krycek for his testimony, and *he* needs to never leave the country again. Mulder, you *know* this.” 

He bent over her, nose to nose, the hazel boring into her gaze, until his shoulders sagged. “One hour. They get one hour. Then, you go back to getting well, Scully. That’s all it makes any sense to agree to, at least for the next few days.” 

A few coughs shook out of her. “Okay, but, Mulder, if they need you, don’t-” 

“Go anywhere,” Nichols finished. “Ros and I can do the legwork, Scully. With three Shadow governments on our backs, you don’t get left alone anymore. No one does, East or West.” 

The tall agent turned to grin at the older man before gazing down at her again. “See, Scully, we did train them right.”

\--o-0-o--

Royal Victoria Infirmary  
Great North Trauma and Emergency Center  
Newcastle-on-Tyne, UK  
Tuesday, July 21, 1998  
8:51 am

Dana Scully smiled at the hand tightly grasping her palm. “Mulder, I may need that back someday.” Her partner had been bending over her as she had awakened, the light streaming in through the windows of the regular hospital room she had been moved into a few hours earlier. She knew, from her partner’s comments, that they were on a short hallway off the main corridor, where the other three rooms were empty. _Just as well for any occupying patients, with all the traipsing in and out of law enforcement officials that was bound to take place._ A white recliner had been waiting by her bedside, which she suspected Rosen or Nichols had arranged. After the nurse had left, he had wrapped her shoulders in one of the extra blankets, then settled in gratefully himself.

He smirked. “We’ll see what we can exchange for it that is of equal worth, Doctor.” Sobering, he adjusted the thin cover over her knees as he straightened. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” 

She nodded. “It’s almost like we’re working a case, and that helps keep my mind off of, well, everything else.” 

The hazel soft and sad, he was bending over her again. “Scully, I’m here, when you want to talk about it, for as long as you need.” 

Her arm now free of the IV, she reached up to cup his rough cheek. “Thanks. I’ll hold you to that, not now, but when things calm down, and more importantly, slow down.” 

_I hope you do. You’ll need to, partner._ “And when will that be?” He settled back with a snort as they heard voices ringing down the tiled hall, but before their visitors arrived, he twisted the blanket closed around her shoulders and neck. 

“Doctor Scully?” The Inspector had warm, honey-colored skin, thick straight black hair over deep, intelligent brown eyes. “I’m Rajesh Emani.” He extended his right hand, nodding as she returned the grasp with her left. “My apologies for this happening on your first visit to the UK.” 

She sent him a quiet smile. “I’d much rather have been strolling the British Museum, Inspector, but I may be here a while, so, we shall see.” She glanced over at her partner, who was reaching across her. 

The Inspector gripped his palm. “You’re Agent Mulder?” 

“Yeah. We’re partners at the Bureau.” He settled on the edge of the recliner, his fingers curled as they rested against her arm. 

The Inspector flipped open his notepad. “Bad business, this. Professor Rhys-Jones had a distinguished career as a horticulturalist before his retirement. His extensive greenhouses of exotic medicinal species were at a different location, so were spared, but, the three estates that were lost contained many unique historical documents and records.” He turned over a page. “The most important materials were at Fenleyding, where you were held first, Agent Scully.” 

She shifted slightly. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Inspector. I’m afraid I saw little of the interior of that residence. I don’t remember smelling gas or anything that might have been an accelerant. Are there no clues to his disappearance?” 

Emani shook his head. “The staff who normally work at the homes were told, by someone claiming to be Rhys-Jones, not to come in for the times you were at each. There were reports of figures in grey hoods and robes, but they appeared to always keep their faces covered.” 

She frowned. “There were three who didn’t: an older woman, short, about 40 pounds overweight, grey hair, a tall woman with grey hair and glasses, about 30 pounds underweight, and a man with a grey mustache, also short and overweight. None had distinguishing marks, or, as I should say properly, all may have been in disguise or theatrical make-up.” 

“But, you could work with a sketch artist?” 

She nodded. “I could. You have had no sightings of Professor Rhys-Jones?” 

Mulder tapped her arm with his index finger. “Scully, it’s his case, not ours. He gets to ask the questions this go-round.” 

The three found themselves chuckling softly with each other. 

“You two are quite used to be on my side of the interrogation, I gather.” The Inspector capped his pen. “But, to answer your question, no, we haven’t. We have the airports and dockyards on full alert, but, he may be being kept in hiding inside the UK. We’re combing the area around Tyrgleipnir, looking for anyplace he may be concealed. We’re treating this as a missing persons case, for now.” He closed the pad. “I’ll send that sketch artist this afternoon?” 

She extended her hand again. “I’ll be here.” 

He shook it carefully. “I’m sure you will. My best for a speedy recovery, Agent Scully.” The Inspector nodded to the tall man over their clasp. “I know the way, Agent Mulder.” 

Once they were alone, the dark-haired man regarded his partner solemnly. “Scully, there *is* something we need to discuss, something I don’t understand.” 

The darkness in his gaze had her sliding her palm over the blankets to rest on his extended fingers. “What is it, Mulder?”

He enclosed her hand between both of his. “You knew the Pict and the Suebi, without being introduced. Can you explain that to me?” Given where she was and what had happened to his partner, he kept his tone as soft and gentle as he could.

Her forehead wrinkled. “I really can’t, Mulder. With Mister ap Gwinn, his Welsh descent was obvious from his name and his Pendragon, so Cymru sprang to my mind almost immediately. There wasn’t anything specific that said ‘Highland Scots’ or ‘Anglo-German’ on the other two. But, I’ve met so many different people moving around with my family growing up, it may be some barely remembered symbol that’s triggering an insight. I can’t say for sure.” She bit her lip, thinking of all the times he had chastised her for not considering extreme possibilities. “The names were just there. I wish I could give you the clues that registered in my mind, but, I can’t.” She rubbed the backs of his fingers with her thumb. “I didn’t recognize Christina Knox’s identity, nor did you, Mulder, when we were on Santorini or in Africa. There must have been some event that triggered all this.” She cocked her head, trying to lighten his sober gaze. “We’ll just add another folder to the X-Files, right?” 

He shook his head. “Scully, I understand you’re trying to be dispassionate about all of this, and I respect that.” He studied their entwined fingers for a few moments. “More than that, I need it, and, our work requires it.” He bent close to her ear. “ But sometimes, you need to search, too. You did that, as we were working through the trials. You were speaking to yourself in your dreams. This may be something similar.” 

She tilted her head. “Mulder, are you saying you think I really am this Riata of theirs?” 

They were sliding back into their comfortable roles, so he huffed slightly at her. “You don’t know your ancestry, because, like me and a lot of other Americans, we’re all mutts. But I could believe there was a Boudicca in your past.” He sent her a broad grin. “Not too far back, either, Britomart.” 

She smiled back, then her gaze fell on his crinkled forehead. “Mulder, if I am the Riata, then you are my Atrebates, my Sam Gamgee, and, no matter how many times you pretend to salute sharply and say, ‘Yes, Ma’am!,’ I just don’t see that one staying true for more than thirty seconds.” 

He waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah. Well, it’s just the start of a theory.” 

She eyed him teasingly. “That needs a lot more supporting evidence before we begin to consider it. Until then, you’re just an omniscient genius, and I’m just a G-woman.” She looked down at her chest. “With extra tubes and ventilation.” 

“Agent Mulder, Doctor Scully?” Ap Gwinn was standing in the doorway. “May I speak with you both?” At their nods, he padded into the room, smiling his approval as Mulder refused to relinquish his partner’s fingers. “What did the Inspector ask you?” 

The agents exchanged a glance before she replied, “Whether I could work with a sketch artist to provide identification on the three whose faces were exposed.” 

The Cymru’s red curls bobbed. “They are not part of the Ekklesia. The Tribuno must have brought them in from the outside, which is a violation of all our procedures. The Fellowship takes care of its own.” He sank onto the foot of the bed. “You understand that, Riata.” 

She shook her head. “I’m not-” 

Ap Gwinn held up both hands. “No, you’re not, as least not yet.” His gaze focused on Mulder, then back on her. “You should both be fully aware of what it being asked of you before you decide your next course of action.” He began pacing. “Should you choose to walk away, there would be no rancor, no retaliation. Especially after the travesty perpetrated upon you by that vengeful man.” He leaned against the wall, then sighed. “We would have to seek another.” He smiled gently at their joined fingers. “Two others. We were all so excited to be able to bring in an American Sister, and another American Atrebates-Brother. We had become too insular, too bound to the past, for our survival.” 

Mulder rose to walk over to the red-haired man. “But, my father, Marshal Tapping, they were both part of your organization, were they not?” He grasped the Cymru’s right hand, turning it over to check the wrist. “You don’t have a tattoo?” 

Ap Gwinn stared over, astonishment written on his features. “What do you mean? Tattoo?” 

Scully attempted to straighten in the bed, but fell back after a wince. “Both Mulder’s father and Marshal Tapping had a rising sun symbol tattooed on their wrists, where Agent Mulder was checking. We took that to be a symbol of your society. Was it not?” 

The red-haired man looked from one to the other. “Perhaps this was something each chose to do, but we have no requirement of such. The Fellowship only speaks of itself with itself. The close protection we take of our existence is what has let us survive for so long. The ex-Tribuno will have no qualms about exposing us if it will benefit himself in the slightest. That was obvious from the first, and why he was rejected by the members for any significant office. We must prepare for that eventuality.”

“No, Cymru, we must save Suebi.” 

Both men started, then focused on the woman in the bed as they returned to it. 

She looked at ap Gwinn, who was standing on her right. “He is still alive.” She shifted to face Mulder, at her left. “If they have him, they will try to make him tell them what he knows, either through coercion or through medication. So, we have some time.” 

The dark-haired man was nodding his assent. 

Ap Gwinn grasped her shoulder. “I must accept that you are right, Sister. How shall we find him?” 

She gestured toward the end of the bed. “Tell us about this Frijdolf.” 

The red-haired man settled by her feet. “He came into the service of the Suebi 35 years ago. He was a surprise to us all, as the Tribuno was. But, the Suebi said he had many uses, and we accepted that. You see-” He licked his lips as he met both their gazes in turn. “-these organizations you two hunt, who had enslaved your Father, Atrebates, they were known to the Suebi. He tracked them assiduously. I suspect he was using Frijdolf as a double agent, inside their organizations, but for him as well.” 

Mulder rose. “So, you know they took my sister?” 

The Cymru shook his head. “We knew their actions in aggregate, not in specific. We are very few, and there are many evils we watch, many factions that will ruthlessly inflict harm to keep their power. We attempt to collect enough evidence to expose them as the opportunity presents itself.” He shifted closer to the head of the bed. “You, Riata, and-” He looked up at Mulder. “-you, Atrebates, are providing that opportunity through your excellent investigations and full disclosures. We will offer any assistance you request. It is yours merely if you ask.” 

“But, we would have to come inside, wouldn’t we?” Scully’s query was offered flatly. 

Ap Gwinn regarded them both solemnly. “If you so wish. Then we can lift the chalk banner on your seat. The bonds we choose are the strongest, not the ones forced on us. It was wrong to consider any approach other than persuasion. I have ridden the currents of time with Brother Aborigine and Brother Pict, so I have seen it. Now, we in the Ekklesia have all seen, and we all know. You are as you were gifted to be.” He reached for Scully’s hand, but only rested his fingers flat on hers. “Whether we are able to lift the chalk banner, whether you assume your high seat, you will do as the Riata would do. It is your nature, Sister. You seek justice for all, the greatest and the least; you can do no other.” 

The dark-haired agent crossed his arms. “Don’t lie to us. My Father hid himself from you, even in death, staging two funerals to keep his mortal remains out of your grasp.” 

After rising to walk around the bed, ap Gwinn stopped in front of Mulder. “Atrebates, cease to fear for him. He resides in an honored place, with all of us who are no longer visible. You passed him in the Suola, on the Wall of Memory. Also understand, there is much your Father hid from us as well. We could see the darkness in him, but, unlike the Tribuno, he was devoted to the Slav and loyal to his office. He walked beside her, and through her, us. That is all we dare ask of each other, and those who stand with us against the Darkness.” He turned to leave. “Now, I must go. You two must return to your life outside. Your work is vital, more than either of you know, and more than either can do alone. We have much to discuss among the Fellowship. Anything we can learn of the Suebi or his Frijdolf will be passed on to you.” He held out a card, a bronze sun with forty wavy rays in the upper right corner. “Please, if you need me, this is my personal cellular phone. Call me at any time, for any reason.” He slipped out the door as the tall agent tucked the card in his wallet. 

Resting both fists on the blankets, Mulder bent over his partner. “What are you doing, Scully?” 

She looked up at him. “Trying to find Professor Rhys-Jones, Mulder, before he is killed. I have no intention of lifting any chalk banner, but they may help us. I told you, back when Deep Throat was alive-” She paused as she grasped his wrist. “-that you were the only one I trusted. That remains true, even if there are others in the Bureau who can be relied upon.” 

He held her gaze for a significant moment, then dropped his eyes to the blankets before releasing a long breath, but found he could not reply, just whisper her name.

She twisted, coughed once, then reached for the elevation controls. “You brought the laptop?” 

Grateful for the anchor her reason provided, he lifted the Dell from beside the recliner, then settled it, open, on her blanketed legs. “I thought you might want to take a look at this, so, here it is, all charged up.” He attached the power cord to a converter, then a wall outlet. After waggling a network cable happily, there were two clicks as it was set in place. “I finagled an account and password from the night nurse, just for us: victoria, all lower case, and, 01tyne, also all lower case.” 

She tapped in the information. “That worked.” Her cheek creased. “See, your manly charms haven’t wasted away completely, partner.” 

He shuffled happily. “You only say that because you don’t know what I had to promise. To *him*.” Frowning and chewing his lip, he resumed pacing at the foot of the bed. “I need to think for a bit, Scully.” Propping his leg on the recliner, he unstrapped the revolver from his ankle holster to place it by her left hand. “I’m not leaving the hospital grounds, but, we never did find your weapon at the Embassy, so use this if you have to defend yourself. You sent me your left-handed qualifying scores when you were getting recertified on your weapon, so I pity anyone who walks in on you unannounced. We’ll get a replacement for yours when we’re back in the States.” 

She tucked her chin. “Let me know when it’s you, Mulder, I wouldn’t want to shoot you again.” 

“Sheah.” He sent her a lop-sided grin as he stepped through the doorway. “That bed’s not big enough, even for two friendly people.”

\--o-0-o--

Royal Victoria Infirmary  
Great North Trauma and Emergency Center  
Newcastle-on-Tyne, UK  
Tuesday, 10:24 am

Dana Scully leaned back against the pillows. _Good thing this hospital has Internet connectivity._ She brought up the official brochure for tourists to the residence where she was first held. How had Mulder pronounced it, as they had compared mental notes on the past few days, while she had been tied down by the tubes, unable to move, and he too exhausted, even to sleep? _Fenleyding._ She opened the pdf, zooming in to the gardens. _There._ She had read the description several times, letting the words play in her mind. _Fenleyding, Fenrir’s binding._ A long row of wormwood tracked the north side of a sinuous path, variety Fenleyding. Someone in the Suebi’s past must have been an herbalist, to have created their own cultivar of artemesia, setting him on his life’s profession. 

At the end of the lane was a crossed-off circle, labeled, ‘Abandoned mine, do not enter.’ That made sense. There were coal lenses throughout the region, so for an estate to have had its own fuel source would, at one time, have been exceedingly useful. But the acrid tang of the wormword hung in her olfactory senses, pulling other remembrances along with it. _Smells have the strongest associations with memory._ Words floated back into her mind, distorted, distant. ‘Good thing she never thought of going in there. We would never have been able to get her out.’ She let out a long breath. _What if that had been the only refuge the Suebi could find, as the house had been broken into, before the fire began raging?_ She needed to discuss this with her partner. Cradling the hand unit with her left shoulder, she tapped in his number. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, Scully, you okay?” 

She took a breath to explain her theory, but stopped. She could see the tips of two black shoes just protruding past the opening. She dropped the phone to grab the revolver, leveling it at the entrance as she flipped off the safety with her thumb. “I have a weapon. I want you to step into the light very slowly, hands in the air.” 

“Scully!” The roar was audible, even with the hand unit dangling close to the floor. 

The short figure of the ‘Professor’ appeared. “Don’t shoot me. I was just hired to play a part.” 

Her eyes flared. “Fine. Then who hired you? What did he look like? Stay there!” The man was shifting as far away from the doorway as he could. “Don’t move!” 

“Get down, Scully!” Her partner was pounding down the hallway. “She has a weapon!” 

The diminutive agent threw herself onto the floor, just as two shots sent drywall shards flying. She scrambled to aim at the opening, where the ‘Teacher’ had been standing. “I have a weapon! Show yourself! Now!” She found herself coughing from the dust, red flecks spattering the tile. “Mulder! There’s one here, inside the doorway!” 

“I have her, Scully! You! On the ground, now!” 

The tall woman complied. 

“Stay there!” The dark-haired agent kicked the weapon away from her fingers to the far side of the hall. “Scully? You okay?”

She rolled to her knees to aim the revolver at the short man. “I’m good, Mulder. Is she cuffed?” 

The tall agent had his SIG in the ‘Teacher’’s back, one cuff on her left wrist, the other on the support for the handrail running at waist height along the wall. “She’s secured.” He stepped into Scully’s room. 

“Don’t shoot me, please.” The little man was shaking. “She hired me. She never told me anything.” 

Heedless of the loose, open-backed, too-short hospital gown, the diminutive agent was walking slowly toward him, the revolver level, in her left-handed grip, with the grey mustache, her bare feet moving in an uneven tread. “If you were just playing a role you were assigned, then why did you enjoy hitting me with that cane so much?” 

Mulder stared at her for a moment. _We’ll talk about this sooner than later, Scully._ A feint by the ‘Professor’ in his partner’s direction focused him. “Don’t move!” He placed the muzzle of his SIG on the man’s neck. “Get back down. Hands over your head, where we can see them. Legs spread.” He looked over at his partner. “It’s okay, Scully, just call for the orderlies, then Nichols. These two have a lot of questions to answer.”

She returned to the bed to reach for the assistance button, but, the green light was dark. Her legs were shaking, now, so she folded onto the mattress. “Mulder, I’m trying Nichols.” She held the hand unit to her ear. “It’s dead. Toss me your cell phone.” She pushed herself up on her feet. 

“Hah!” The ‘Professor’ was snarling as the tall agent’s fingers went still by his pocket. “You’re not the only two who are good with technology.” He pointed at the toggle in Scully’s hand. “We disabled the intercoms on this floor.” 

“And, we can unlock Bureau cuffs.” The ‘Teacher’ was standing in the doorway, her weapon leveled at Mulder’s head. “Put down your weapons, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder.” 

The tall man set his SIG on the floor. 

The diminutive pathologist held the revolver up, then set it on the rolling table, before her clinician’s anger took over. “Someone could die, thanks to you.” 

The little actor pulled out his own SIG. “That’s the general idea. Too bad the old man’s service revolver was left in its case for so long. Alex could have put it to some good use if you hadn’t wrestled it away from him, Scully. And, yes, I enjoyed caning you. Women like you, who don’t know their place, you deserve it, and more.” 

Mulder, his jaw jutted, had his hands in the air. “So, how does this end, people?” 

The ‘Teacher’ advanced on him. “With you two dying in each other’s arms, of course.” She wagged the tip of the Remington, forcing Mulder to back up beside his partner. “Like Franz Ferdinand and Sophia. How tragic.” Her voice switched to a nasal sing-song. “When was that, wicked little girl?” 

The pathologist shook her head. “We’re not playing a game here anymore.” 

Mulder looked over his shoulder at Scully, who canted her eyes toward the weapon on the rolling tray. He sent her a fraction of a dip of his head. 

The ‘Professor’ stood, shoulder to shoulder with the ‘Teacher.’ “No, we’re not.” 

“Now, Scully,” Mulder hissed through clenched teeth. 

She dove for the revolver, then her partner threw the rolling tray at the two, who jumped out of the way. The ‘Teacher’’s long legs tangled with the ‘Professor’’s short ones, collapsing them to the floor as they struggled. “Both of you! Stay on the ground!” She was shivering, but kept her weapon aimed at them. 

The tall agent kicked the guns away. “You okay, Scully?” 

She nodded. A cough sent blood onto the tiles. 

Mulder gritted his teeth, but managed to dial Nichols’s cell phone. “We need you two in here, now. Bring the Yard. We have two of our suspects.” He terminated the call, then stood by his partner. “I’d cuff them together, but, I don’t think that will help.” He spared her a glance as he walked over to collect their guns, resting against the far wall. “You really okay?” 

She shrugged, but said nothing, just leveling her aim at the ‘Teacher.’ 

To Mulder, it seemed an eternity of waiting, watching the man and the woman on the floor, looking for any motion or feint toward their weapons lying on the now-righted rolling table. His partner’s ragged breathing as she wavered beside him was the only repeating counter in the eerily quiet wing of the hospital. _At least I can hear it._ Finally, at the end of the long corridor, the stairwell door clicked open, followed by Nichols’s gravelly comment, “They’re here, on this hall.”

“Okay. Ready your weapons.” Emani was obviously speaking to several compatriots. “Let’s go.” 

Nichols, Rosen, Emani, and four Inspectors moved through the doorway, aiming their guns at the two on the floor as they entered. 

Mulder pointed at the ‘Teacher.’ “Watch that one, she can work out of the cuffs.” 

After the two, an Inspector on each arm, were led away, Emani turned to the partners. “These are two of your known captors, Agent Scully?” 

She nodded, then dropped the gun in her partner’s hands. “It’s just the older woman you have to get. They were working with Krycek. They admitted it.” 

The tall agent holstered both his weapons. “If you know their identities, we can tie them back to him, track some of his movements.” He glanced down at his partner, waiting for her upturned face to offer her affirmation. She had been focused and active throughout the confrontation, but, now, they would see the toll her instincts were taking on her battered frame. “Scully, talk to me.” 

Her hand reaching to push downward on the thin hospital gown, she took a long breath. “I think Professor Rhys-Jones has concealed himself in an abandoned mine on the grounds of Fenleyding. I remember a brief discussion on it when I was recaptured.” She met his downward gaze. “That was why I called you, Mulder, to discuss where to go with my recovered memory, before I saw the leather toes of the ‘Professor’’s black shoes through the doorway.” 

He sent her a lop-sided grin. “I thought the Professor always wore blue sneakers, Mary-Ann.”

Both checks creased, before a fit of coughing overtook her, leaving her doubled over where she stood. She pulled herself rigid with difficulty before she looked up at her partner. “Sorry. Mulder, I thought this was healing up.” 

The tall agent carefully wrapped an arm around her back to guide her toward the head of the bed, casting about in his mind for a comment that would keep her focused. “You may be right, Scully. He explained in the helo that Fenleyding was his favorite estate. He would have played on the grounds as a child and should know it better than anyone else.” 

“Yes.” It was all she could manage before she started coughing again, red appearing on the white of the shoulder of her partner’s shirt.

He held her upright, both of them perched on the edge of the mattress.

Rosen was in the doorway. “I’m going off to find a nurse, Nic. I don’t like this.” 

The ASAC sent her an affirming nod. “There are other patients who need attending, too, Ros.” 

But the elevator doors were opening, worried staff spilling out. The brunette astronomer waved to Doctor Harris. “Please, it’s Agent Scully.” 

The grey-haired man spun into the room, then stopped at the sight of the motionless woman in Mulder’s arms, her gauze-wrapped head limp against his chest. “Gurney!” At the looks of horror on the faces of the four officers, he tried a small joke for reassurance. “I think Doctor Scully will have me redoing some of my best handiwork.” 

Feeling desperately helpless, the tall agent simply tightened his grip on his partner. 

Chattering wheels called the surgeon’s attention to the door. “In here!” 

The pallet coming to a stop beside him, Mulder slid his arm under Scully’s knees to lift her onto the mattress, releasing her slowly as the orderlies began applying compression to the chest wound. When the men began moving her out of the room, the tall agent, his face darkening, fell in step behind them. 

Harris grasped Mulder’s shoulder as he passed. “We’ll take it from here.” The gentle command, full of compassion, stopped the dark-haired man’s relentless motion. 

Once the elevator doors had rolled closed behind the doctor and two orderlies, Mulder reached into his pocket to extract ap Gwinn’s card. After all three had joined him in the corridor, he held it toward Rosen, who was standing between Emani and Nichols. “Call this number. If Rhys-Jones is hiding in the mine, a friendly voice may help you talk him out.” 

Nichols gripped Mulder’s elbow. “Chief, one of us can stay with you.” 

The hazel eyes sent out depthless gratitude, but he shook his head. “I’ll wait here. Scully will be fine.” He crossed his arms. “She has to be. You two have to go get Rhys-Jones before it’s too late.” After a glance into the now-unoccupied room, the bed canted at an angle, the table pushed against the wall, he headed toward the waiting area outside surgery.

\--o-0-o--

Dark Apartment  
Washington, DC  
Tuesday, 9:41 am

The old spy swiveled the rocker at the key in the lock. There was but one other person who had access to this space, but it was not the building manager. He had paid good money, many years ago, so that would be the case. 

Frijdolf, still in his dark blue uniform, was standing in the open entry. “There you are, you old Devil. You haven’t aged a day.” 

The Smoker slid to his feet, then waved at the recliner. “You told me to be here, so I waited. A beer, or have you been spoiled by decades of British ale?” 

The slight man lowered himself into the cushions. “This is the same one I bought you? Who knew Mephistopheles was sentimental.” 

Age-spotted hands set up a folding chair. “Why waste money if it still works?” After he sat, he crossed his arms. “So, what news from beyond the Pond?” 

Frijdolf leaned forward. “That weasel Krycek was unable to finish the job.” 

“I expected no other from that self-promoting, spoiled child.” He reached for the red and white packet, but dropped it. “So, is Dana Scully the Riata now, her loyalties forever divided between them and the Bureau? Or has she been removed from play permanently?” 

The man in the recliner sighed. “I could not tell. There will be no glorious ceremony of initiation, but, she is ensconced in the trauma unit in Newcastle, Bill’s boy standing guard over her like Ajax over Patroclus. Whether she lives, only the surgeon’s skills will determine. Rhys-Jones was deeply disturbed by the events at Tyrgleipnir, so I took him home to Fenleyding.” 

“All went there as we have planned?” 

“Yes. That silly little woman you found for me staged a break-in, so he wanted to hide. I helped him to a place of safety.” 

“One so secure he will never be found again?” 

“Yes. I followed your methods precisely, so no ties can be established back to us. Time and exposure will do its work, and the fires will erase his evidence. Then, the surveillance of us and the Europeans will cease. The rest of his Fellowship does not know how he monitors their enemies, so their stream of knowledge will be choked off.” 

“Ah. What of the Europeans?” 

“They are in close communication with the Japanese. James Andrews has been their conduit.”

“Yes.” Now, the cellophane rattled. “It is as Amanda has discerned.” 

“I see. You have had some luck with your former associates, then?” 

A click, then there was an orange glow. “With three of her, we could regain our former status, my friend.” A sigh, then rings of blue smoke appeared. “But, she is only one. And she is often distracted by her ever-attentive consort. He, too, will have his uses, so he cannot simply have an accident.” 

“One more matter.”

“Yes?” 

“Krycek has turned the MJ tape over to the Forty. If it were to be used as an attraction to bring Dana Scully into their fold, then much damage would ensue.” 

More blue swirls billowed. “Less than you think. The documents contained on it pertain mostly to the US operations, less to the Europeans or the Japanese. With the precipitate actions of my young colleagues, nearly all of that information on us is obsolete, meaningless.” 

“But, not all of it.” 

“Of course not. That old Indian encoded much for us, but, as you say, not all of it, so even the evidence of the Bureau’s recordings from his memories is incomplete. A few of us are still alive, and for Caroline’s son to learn the full extent of our actions would stoke the fires of his heart. As of now, he has all he thinks he desires: his sister, knowledge of the existence of extraterrestrial intelligence working its way though World culture, our apparent exposure, status in the Bureau, more members of his flock. The Truth, as our old friend liked to call it, is finally ‘out there’ for all to see. His work appears to consist of putting us away, we, the Japanese, and the Europeans. Then he can return to his monsters and mutants.” 

“But the tape would tell him there is still more to be exposed.” 

“It would. We were able to extract it before he understood any of it before. While Doctor Scully had diligently read far more of the contents than he, her knowledge of us is less extensive, so there were fewer connections she could have made, even with her encyclopedic study of the Bureau’s X-Files. If she were to join the Forty, and if Rhys-Jones lives, there is much he could tell her that would spur her to action as well.” 

Frijdolf nodded. “Then, it would be better the tape should disappear, once more.” 

“Indeed. It should be made so.” 

“What of Krycek? He is in the possession of the FBI as we speak.” 

A snap of yellowed fingers rang in the bare room. “What of him? Let him rot. He is the Bureau’s burden now, not ours, as the Assistant Director will soon learn. Should it appear as if he is about to tell the Department of Justice something useful, we have ways of preventing that, even as he rests behind bars. So, my friend, shall we share a meal before you go?” 

“Ah. That would be most pleasant.” 

“Then let me take care of a few matters of the flesh, and we can be on our way. Old Ebbitt? They should be open now.” 

“Hah! Haven’t been there in years. Just the thing. My stomach thinks it is well past lunch.” 

“Then I’ll be just a moment.” The old spy detoured into his bedroom to reach into the bottom drawer of his dresser for a leather case. _Trust no one, as our old friend would advise._ “Won’t be a minute!” 

But there was no answer as he noiselessly slid bullets into the chambers. 

When he stepped into his living room again, the leather seat was empty, the door hung open. _You know me too well, old friend. We shall not see each other again._ He returned to the bedroom to unload the Smith and Wesson. Finished, he walked back to his living room, picked up his briefcase set by the door, shrugged into his jacket, then locked the apartment after he stepped out. _To work, then._

\--o-0-o--

Royal Victoria Infirmary  
Great North Trauma and Emergency Center  
Newcastle-on-Tyne, UK  
Wednesday, July 22, 1998  
6:53 am

“Well, at least we have good news to pass on to them.” Rosen eyed her former partner as they trotted down the hall, side-by-side. She glanced down at the four small coffees in the paper tray, pleased to see that little of the dark liquid had sloshed out of the slits in the lids.

Nichols held up a brown paper sack. “A treat for breakfast for those two. Scully’s had no solid food since she was spirited out of the Embassy, so far as I can tell.” 

Rosen nodded. “Mulder probably only had just what you got him to eat at the hotel.” They exchanged rueful grins, knowing the agents as well as they had both come to over the years. 

They turned into the room. Dana Scully was asleep, supine, a carefully-placed blanket swaddling her shoulders, but she was free of IV’s and drainage tubes. Her left arm was stretched out along her hip. Her partner had nestled the recliner against the rails of the hospital bed, where he was on his side, his fingers through the slats to rest, open limply, on the extended wrist. 

“I hate to wake them, Nic.” The brunette astronomer, one hand grasping the pillow by the gauze-wrapped head, was bending over the diminutive agent. “You know they’re both exhausted.”

Nichols sighed. “Yeah, but, you know them, Ros. They’ll want to know as soon as possible.” He shook a muscled shoulder gently. “Hey, Chief.” 

The fingers instinctively tightened around his partner’s arm before his eyes opened. He coughed once, then pushed himself upright, where he swayed groggily. “What’s going on?” He patted the small fingers. “Doctor, rise and shine. The kids are home from college.” He rubbed his face with both palms.

Her eyes still closed, she smiled gently. “Mulder, I was dreaming about scones, and now, I smell them. You promised me you were going to sleep through the night, G-man.” She met Rosen’s hazel gaze. “You look like you have good news.” She turned her head to the left. “Morning, Nichols.” 

He held up the sack. “We have more than that, so let’s get you two settled.” He was extracting four paper plates to hand to his former partner. 

Rosen lined up the plates in a row on the rolling table, then Nichols placed a scone on each. The coffees were still in the tray, but Rosen tapped the cup closest to the diminutive agent. “Cream only, Scully.” She held one out for Mulder. “Lots of sugar, just the way you like it.” 

Her right arm still taped against her ribs, Scully’s left hand hovered over the round blueberry scone before breaking a corner off the triangular lemon pastry. After chewing and swallowing, her eyes slid shut momentarily. “Thank you, both of you. I never thought anything could taste so good.” 

Mulder settled in the recliner, his eyes dancing as she ate another bite. He had a mouthful of the blueberry, so said nothing, content to watch his partner enjoying herself, her green-blue eyes sparkling, her breaths coming easily. The hours he had spent by her side, listening to machines beeping as she lay motionless, tubes running into and out of her, would continue to harry him in his sleep, he knew. 

Rosen chuckled. “We’ve been walking past these every morning, Agent Scully.” 

His scone finished, Mulder took several gulps of the coffee, then looked up. “Thanks, both of you. So, you found Rhys-Jones?” 

Nichols huffed through his mustache. “Right where Agent Scully thought he would be, Chief. He was unharmed, if a bit dehydrated. There was no sign of Frijdolf.” 

“I’m sure the Smoker knows right where he is.” Scully took a quick sip of the still-hot coffee. 

“Probably.” The brunette astronomer nodded to the woman on the bed. “Rhys-Jones told ap Gwinn Frijdolf had helped him hide, then ran off himself.” 

Nichols patted his mustache with a brown paper napkin. “We had to let the Inspectors and the locals take over. Until we can tie these events to something back in the US-” 

“We have no jurisdiction.” The tall agent let out a huff as he crossed his arms. 

“We can’t even hold the ‘Professor’ and the ‘Teacher.’” Rosen paused as her index finger rubbed against the side of her thumb. “They claim they *are* local actors, hired to play a part by Krycek, that he made certain they were isolated from any details about Scully’s background. They said he just told them it was improv.” 

Three snorts answered her, before Mulder smiled mirthlessly. “Then their performance here was all part of an acting job? BAFTA’s all around, I say, if it was. There’s more to these two than they’re willing to admit. We need to keep after them, somehow. Your ‘Professor’ has a mental problem I’d like to correct him on.” He glowered at the spot where the ‘actor’ had lain the previous morning. “A problem too many men have, even after all the Curies, the Meirs, and the O’Connors.” 

Scully huffed in agreement. “So, any word on the ‘Matron’?” 

The astronomer shook her head. “No. They claim not to know her, but, we had little time to interrogate them before they were taken away. Ap Gwinn was quite insistent we get back to you two.” 

The diminutive agent took a sip of the coffee. “She may actually have been involved in the plot. I’d like to show ap Gwinn and Rhys-Jones her sketch.” 

Mulder turned to her. “What makes you say that, Scully?” 

She straightened, reminding herself to take deep breaths. “Although it was obvious she had never done anything like what was done to me before, it seemed like she knew what was going to happen before it did, part of the time. That’s the best way I can describe the sense I had of her. The other two did seem like they had been kept partially in the dark, that they were making it up as they went along, as were the Quaestores.” 

Rosen’s dark eyebrows elevated. “Oh, you mean the men in the grey robes?” 

She nodded. “They thought this was an initiation-” 

“One you completed, Scully, when you relieved Krycek of his weapon.” Mulder was regarding his partner soberly. 

The balding Montanan chewed his mustache for a moment. “So, is that good or bad? Are you in the Forty, or not, Scully?” 

She drew another deep breath. “We keep coming back to that.” Her forehead wrinkled. “No. Being in the Forty would divide my loyalties between the Bureau and them. While there would be benefits, not the least access to their archives, we will have those anyway, if we’re diplomatic. We need the alliance, but we have to carefully marshal our resources. Besides, I know where I belong. I’m a pathologist in the FBI, joint section head of X-Files East with this odd-ball Oxford-graduate psychologist and profiler I find sitting in the office adjacent to mine every morning, ready to spout some cockamamie idea right as I walk in the door.” 

“But I make you hot coffee first,” Mulder protested with a delighted wink. “Besides, you’re not the only one they want. You didn’t have to stroll through a madding crowd in your Dad’s robe, Doctor.”

She cocked her head at him. “True. Then, this is a decision we need to make together, isn’t it?” 

“It is, and we have.” The dark-haired agent patted his partner’s arm. 

“That’s how good teams work.” The balding Montanan grinned at each of them.

The partners exchanged light-hearted glances, before the pathologist turned to the ASAC. “The Forty can come to us, Nichols. Ap Gwinn has already told us they work in opposition to the Shadows, in their own way.” 

“So, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The brunette astronomer began rubbing her finger over loose skin by her thumbnail. 

“The more the merrier, Ros.” Nichols sent his former partner a quick grin. “We need a counterbalance like them on the West Coast. The Japanese groups appear to be more active than the Europeans.” 

“We don’t know that, Nic.” After setting the empty paper cup on the rolling tray, the triathlete crossed her arms. “Sandra gave us the barest glimpse inside the Osaka operations, but, until we understand more about the Europeans, we can’t disentangle their involvements in public affairs.” 

Scully shifted upright again. “There’s no equivalent to the European Union in the Far East, which provides coordinated economic-” She looked over at her partner.

Mulder had emitted his whooping shout. “Guys, even if we finish cataloging all the things we don’t know, we will still have a problem with jurisdiction.” 

Nichols started laughing outright, a loud cough-bark that settled the focus of the three others on him. “Like that’s ever stopped you, Chief.” 

Scully and Rosen eyed Mulder expectantly before the diminutive agent shook her head. “I’m not going to be one of the Forty, and I refuse to play by bureaucratic rules.” 

The brunette astronomer turned to her former partner. “I think we seen the first successful personality swap, Nic. What say you?” 

Nichols stepped out of the room, staggering back with two metal folding chairs. “Time to do this right, Ros.” He handed one to his former partner, then the pair settled beside Scully’s bed. 

The triathlete took several sips from her paper cup, before turning to the tall agent. “Okay, guys, so, seriously, what are we planning on doing with the Europeans?”

Mulder drained the last of his coffee. “When the Doctor gets rested up, that’ll be our job, with Pendrell, Phillips, and Stickle. You two need to return to the West Coast.” 

“What?” Nichols was on his feet. “Chief, I understand we need to be going after Osaka, especially with what they did, but Scully’s not in any shape to travel, and-” 

“I can be mobile and ready for work in a few days, Nichols.” She tried to sit up, but Mulder’s long hand was on her shoulder, keeping her still. 

Rosen was shaking her head vehemently. “Scully, you took a bullet to the chest, and you just had your second trip to the operating table yesterday. You have to rest and get better. You also need someone on the outside to do the legwork. That’s non-negotiable. We’re staying.” After exchanging a glance with her former partner, each crossed their arms for emphasis. 

“They’re right, Scully.” The tall agent smirked at the memory. “No haring off on motorbikes to rummage around in sunken boxcars, not for a good long time.” The fingers wrapped around the back of her neck. “You need to recuperate. But, we’re not alone here. All you need to do is speak with ap Gwinn-” He stopped, since she was shaking her gauze-wrapped head.

“No, Mulder, we need to keep them out of Bureau affairs as long as possible. They may be our allies, but how much can we afford to let them know?” 

He rested his crossed arms on the bed rail. “We let them have copies of my Father’s documents, in exchange for Rhys-Jones’s data on the Shadows.” 

“That’s an eminently sensible agreement, Atrebates.” Ap Gwinn was standing in the doorway. He crossed into the room, exchanging nods with the astronomer and the ASAC. “You are all welcome to remain. When the Riata is able to travel-” He held up both hands to forestall the objections he knew his choice of title would provoke. “-you can all come to Llangollen and House Derwbryn. I have opened the grounds to visitors from all over the world, or else I would not be able to maintain my family home. I have internet access throughout, and an organic garden and small restaurant. I have a wing that could be all of yours in privacy, with a hospital bed if you still need one, Riata. I have something else.” He reached into his jacket pocket, extracting a digital tape to place on the rolling table. “I assume you both know what this is?” 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance at the phrase, last spoken during a fraught exchange in Apartment 42, before she leaned forward. “Krycek left that with you?” 

The Cymru nodded. “It would have been placed in Suebi’s archives, but he had brought it to the Suola and stored it in the Ekklesia safe, with a paper transcription, as it turns out, for the best. I have drives that can read it or I can just bring along the transcript next time.” 

Mulder held the tape, turning it over to rub the metal base with his thumb. “Not all of this will still be meaningful, but, we can check Albert’s memories.” 

Scully extended her palm, enclosing her fingers around his when he placed the cassette in her supine hand. “We’ll need to bring Albert out for a week or so, if he can still travel, or locate another code talker to work with, to check the transcript against the tape contents.” 

Rosen found her feet, then bent over the mattress. “Guys, I’ve been trying to find a spare moment to tell you this, but, the Gunmen called us. They’ve worked out a tracking system to break the Japanese communications, but they want to give you two the details in person.” She smirked at Scully. “Frohike was explicit about the ‘in person’ part.”

Nichols chuckled. “Mister ap Gwinn, I think you’ll discover you’ve opened the door a little too wide for your own sanity.” 

The red-haired man waved a hand. “I’ve perused their newspaper.” His gaze landed on Scully’s bruised face. “All a part of checking up on you, Riata. Their methods may be odd, but their motives are impeccably noble. The house can easily accommodate two dozen for an extended stay, and it’s just been myself and the staff rattling around the corridors for far too long.”

The ASAC stood beside the Cymru. “You wouldn’t happen to have a ghost or two about the place, would you?” 

Ap Gwinn smiled broadly. “Only some distant relatives from the wars with England’s fourth Henry. But none of you are of British descent, so they’ll just pass through now and again.” 

Mulder bent over his partner. “See, Scully, not such a bad plan, is it?” 

Her forehead wrinkled, but she said nothing.

\--o-0-o--

House Derwbryn  
Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales  
Friday, July 24, 1998  
9:27 am

Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn settled on Dana Scully’s right at the breakfast table. He was just out of the light from the tall windows that fell onto the embroidered linens and the crimson lilies in planters behind the mahogany chairs, each back carved with three nodding ostrich feathers. The four agents had arrived the previous night, once the slight woman beside him had deemed herself fit to travel. Rosen and Nichols had finished their meals an hour ago, then stepped out for a walk, the astronomer’s restless energy needing an outlet, the ASAC enjoying having a little free time on his hands. Now, perhaps, the Cymru could work on convincing her to take her rightful place in the Suola. He slid a tomato and onion omelet onto a plate, long red dragons curled around the lip of the white china. The bright yellow from the yolks of eggs he had collected this morning partially obscured the green ring marking the perimeter of the well. “Were you comfortable last night, Riata?” He ignored the scowl of the tall agent on her left at his use of her rightfully-earned appellation, but smiled as the protective lean toward her shoulder. The dark-haired man, never far from the diminutive pathologist’s side, was earning *his* title with every hour they spent inside his walls. 

She sent her partner a tip of her chin before turning to offer ap Gwinn a slight smile. “Yes, I am. It’s always good to check out of a hospital and sleep in a normal bed.” She was cutting her eggs carefully with the fork in her left hand. “You mentioned last night when we arrived that this is the third house to be called Derwbryn?” 

The red curls waved. “That we have records for. Any documents prior to the first were destroyed by the fire during Henry the Fourth of England’s siege.” 

After chewing and swallowing, she tapped the plate with her fork. “Are there any medieval foundations still visible?” 

Ap Gwinn shook his head. “No, each house was larger than the last. There’s an interior wall in the basement that may be original at the footer, but, this rebuild in the Nineteenth Century, then my Father’s modernization in the Fifties, removed much that was historical, sadly. The carriage house has stones, with graffiti and inscriptions, from the Medieval structure throughout, so that’s what we show the tourists.” He lifted a round of a bakestone from between the upright ribs of the white Portmeirion server, a currant falling to the tablecloth before he could transfer the pic to his plate. “What can we do to make you and your people more comfortable while you wait for your friends from America to arrive to work with you?” 

Now, she favored him with a full-wattage smile. “We’d like to take over your study, if that would be alright. We have some documents we need to work our way through and we know you have much to look to, with this being the height of tourist season. In a few days, when I have my stamina back, I’d love a tour of your grounds. It’s so green, and the view from my window is amazing.” 

The tall agent reached for her wrist. “Scully, you need to take it easy, too. You’re just three days past your last surgery.” 

She gently grasped, then released, his outstretched fingers. “You’re right, Sam, as always.” 

The partners exchanged a glance, knowing she was just as bad a patient as he when they had a case to pursue. They had downloaded a scanned copy of Marshal Tapping’s document the previous evening that they were both eager to start reviewing. Further, there was an uncomfortable, but necessary, duty waiting, in that he would need to take a deposition from her about the events of her Initiation for the case against Krycek. Then, they would be working their way through the emotional damage the course her kidnapping had taken would inevitably expose in both of them. But, not all in one afternoon. The slump of her shoulders told him as much. He leaned close to her face. “Yes, Master Frodo.”

\--o-0-o--

House Derwbryn  
Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales  
Friday, 2:21 pm

“Mulder, would you pass me my notebook, please?” 

He checked around the cluttered worktable, shifting documents and sheaves of paper, before pointing to the spiral-bound pages closest to him. “This?” 

She held out her left hand. “Thanks.” Scully flipped over a couple of pages, then began painfully scribbling numbers off the screen of her laptop.

Her partner crossed his arms on the printed copy of Marshal Tapping’s document. “What do you think you have, Scully?” 

She stifled a yawn. “The MJ documents don’t give many locations, but there are comments here about specimens being lost due to mold.” After a few clicks, she brought up a digital version of Tapping’s foldout map. “I’d say it might have been any of the sites in the Pacific Northwest, but there are three on Lake Chelan. One is just outside Stehekin, set on a long pier out on the water. That sounds like a-” She rubbed her face, then propped her cheek on her fist. “Oh.” 

The tall agent circled the oak surface to drop a long hand on her left shoulder. “Scully, it’s okay. We can knock off if you need a break.” 

She shook her head. “No, I need to-” 

His fingers were rubbing gentle circles in the back of her neck, just below the gauze wrapping her scalp. “Rest. Scully, you need to rest. Rosen and Nichols have kicked themselves free for a bit. We can, too, for as long as you need.” 

She stared blearily at the chaise lounge under the windows, its ivory padding setting off the turned walnut rails and feet. “That looks comfortable. It’s even left-handed, so I could keep the weight off my right shoulder.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Maybe I can close my eyes for a few minutes, then get back to work.” She canted her face hesitantly up at his downward softening gaze. “That wouldn’t hold us up too long, would it, Mulder?” 

He shook his head, then, his arm curled around her waist, guided her over to it. “It won’t hold us up at all, Scully.” The hazel was regarding her gently. 

She sank gratefully onto the velvet, then heeled off her black walking shoes. “This is so lovely.” Her left hand stroked the fabric. “Dafydd takes such good care of this amazing place.” She shifted the bolster off to the end table, then reclined against the angled side. “I should be sleeping upright.” The words were verbal thought, not speech. “The rib hurts less like this.” Suddenly aware of her partner’s presence, she blinked up at him. “Mulder? You look tired. I’ll be okay here, if you’d like to turn in yourself.” Her eyes were drifting shut. 

His face darkened and cleared, her quiet statements leaving him somber, yet comforted. She was healing, but relying on his help, as they both knew she still needed the time. He bent over her. “You cold in here?” 

Her fingers extended toward his chin, but fell away without making contact, then, she muttered something he couldn’t quite understand as she stretched her legs out on the deep cushion. 

He straightened. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He stroked the length of her arm, straight on the velvet, from shoulder to fingertips. “I’ll be back in a few.” As he pushed the oak door open, he stopped short. Dafydd ap Gwinn had his hand up to knock, so the agent coughed once to cover his surprise. “Hey. Sorry. I didn’t know you were there.” 

The red-haired man caught a glimpse of Scully on the chaise. “Is the Riata alright? Do you need anything? I can have the nurse-” 

Mulder held up his palm. “She’s fine. She just wore out.” He checked behind him, then closed the door, holding the knob turned so he could engage the latch silently. “I knew she would, considering all she’s been through.” He began moving toward his room. “I’m just going to get her a blanket so she can sleep for a few hours, that and some water for her antibiotics.” He bit his lip momentarily. “I may be able to get her to take a couple of painkillers.” He looked over at their host. “She tries to minimize her use of them, but, as she likes to remind me when I’m on the receiving end, ribs are a special case. Especially with her lung.” He shook his head. 

Ap Gwinn fell in step beside him. “You do your office honor, Atrebates.” 

“Atre- No.” The dark-haired man released a snort. “We’re just FBI agents, Sir. My partner took a bullet in the line of duty.” He staggered to a halt. “She.” 

The Cymru stepped in front of him. “Perhaps you need to rest as well.” 

Mulder punched his fist against his open palm. “It should have been me. She had done enough. She-” He met the green eyes. “It should have been me. Had I gone for the gun, not Krycek, it would have been me. She’s been through enough. I would gladly-” 

Now, ap Gwinn grasped his muscled shoulder. “I asked you, back in Washington, to think of her, not yourself. You should stop. You’ve both been through enough, Atre-” 

The dark-haired agent glared. “No. We are who we are.” He straightened. “I’m going to get my partner a blanket so she can sleep, and a pitcher of water for when she wakes up.” He spun on his heel, then pulled himself up short. “Oh, excuse me, Sir.” An older man, dressed in high-waisted plaid trousers, a morning coat over a cravat tucked into a vest, was leaning on a cane with a dragon’s head as he stood in front of the agent. Mulder wondered, for a moment, if this was a costumed, role-playing tourist, or even a hired guide to House Derwbryn, until he noted the sun with forty wavy rays clipping the cravat in place. The gentleman continued to block their path. His grey head nodded to ap Gwinn, then a gloved hand mounted a pair of Oxford spectacles on a slender nose. The lenses began bobbing as the dark-haired agent was favored with a broad smile. 

Ap Gwinn chuckled. “So, you can see Ieuan?” 

Mulder was swaying on his feet. “Ieuan?” 

“My ancestor. The first member of the Forty from our family. He only shows up when there are other Brothers or Sisters in the house.”

The dark-haired agent rubbed his eyes. “Oh?” The figure that seemed so real was now gone. “I’m more tired than I thought. Maybe two blankets.” 

The Cymru patted his shoulder again. “I suspect he’s gone to check in on the Riata. You go get those blankets, and I’ll bring the water. We’ll see what she makes of him, hum?” 

Genuinely amused, Mulder nodded. “My partner doesn’t believe in ghosts, Sir. This should be fun.”

\--o-0-o--

House Derwbryn  
Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales  
Friday, 7:03 pm

“Nic, they need to eat something.” The brunette astronomer was loading two plates with poached fillets of weir-raised Dee salmon, sauteed asparagus, minted peas, and herbed pearled barley with onions. “They can’t work all the time.” 

The balding Montanan huffed through his mustache. “Yeah, I’ll get that brown bread and some of the herbed butter. Putting on pound or two would help them both. Scully’s always been a little thing, and she lost a lot of weight between her ordeal and recovery. The Chief, well, he’s a string bean. That and some chilled water should set them up nicely for tonight.” 

The former partners walked side-by-side to the study. Nichols knocked, but, at the silence, exchanged a frown with the triathlete.

“Guys!” She leaned against the door. “Open up!” 

There was no sound from inside, so the ASAC turned the knob. Dana Scully was still flat on her back on the chaise, under a woolen blanket thick with brown and black fibers covering her from her chin to past her sock-clad feet. Her walking shoes had remained where they fell when she heeled them off in her exhaustion, on the oak floorboards by the open end of the lounge. One arm, only, was exposed. It dropped straight to the floor, where the hand rested, supine, the fingers all cocked at odd angles, on a muscled shoulder. Fox Mulder was sprawled, face down, on the oval red Afghan carpet, tightly gripping a white bolster to prop his head up slightly, another thick woolen cover twisted from between his legs up over his back to partly cover his face. 

“He can’t be comfortable like that.” The gravel was hoarse with sympathy. He knelt beside the lean form, then reached for the agent’s back. “Hey, Chief.” 

The long limbs stretched, then the dark-haired man pushed himself up on his elbows. “Hey.” He pulled himself up until he was sitting, straight-legged, his spine against the chaise. “What time is it?” He was twisting to tuck his partner’s arm back under the coverlet as he spoke. 

“Dinner-time, Mulder.” Rosen held up the two plates. 

With a lop-sided grin, he wiggled the side of an index finger against the tip of his partner’s nose. “Room service, G-woman. Up and at’em.” 

She shifted, then blinked herself awake. “Oh, no.” She pulled herself into a wobbly slump with a grunt. “I slept too long.” She checked out the window over the chaise. “It’s getting dark. We have too much to do.” She tried swinging her feet to the floor, but pulled them back up to the cushions when her toes contacted the tall agent’s tight abdomen. “Sorry, Mulder.” 

He was sliding the wool back over her legs as he scanned her drawn face. “For what?” 

“Ow.” She attempted a stretch, but the still-healing injuries had protested the sudden movements as she looked up. “Nichols? Rosen? You’re back?”

“Scully, it’s okay. We brought food.” The balding Montanan slid off the linen tucked over the bread, letting the warm scent of sage and leeks waft toward them. “Take your time getting yourselves up. We’ll just set dinner and your water on the worktable here, so you two can eat when you’re ready.”

Rosen glanced at her former partner. “There’s a delightful apple tart for dessert when you’re done, and some homemade cinnamon ice cream. Nic and I waited so we could share it with you. We’ll be back in about a half an hour. That way it won’t melt while we’re discussing what you two have uncovered.” They began setting out the plates, silverware, and glasses. 

Scully slid shakily to her feet. “Mulder? You spent the afternoon on the floor? That armchair looked quite comfortable.” 

He was standing and stretching. “It was occupied by an ap Gwinn, Doctor.” 

“Oh?” She was eyeing her shoes, but decided they were too much trouble in this warm, comfortable room. “Dafydd was here? Why didn’t you wake me?” 

He met her gaze. He considered explaining the ap Gwinn was Ieuan, who had bent, smiling and nodding, into her sleeping face as her partner’s long fingers tucked the blanket gently over and around her. Ieuan had reached out, attempting to stroke her gauze-wrapped forehead, but the agent had waved the translucent hand away. The specter had straightened, then patted the dark-haired man on the shoulder, which left his arm tingling slightly. Finally, the former Cymru had taken the chair as Mulder had stretched out on the Afghan rug. But, the grey under her eyes told him she was up to hearing none of that, nor was he himself prepared for the ensuing heated discussion, so he settled for the gentlest of tweaks. “Besides, Sam always stays close to Master Frodo.” His eyebrows canted gleefully at her subdued, yet laser-focused glare.

\--o-0-o--

Wilton Residence  
La Jolla, CA  
Saturday, July 25, 1998  
4:12 pm

Sandra Miller shoved her transplanting spade into the soil with both hands. Judy was no gardener; she herself had been too busy with papers, then the trip to Santorini, to attend these beds. _No time like the present._ She hated Bermuda grass. The long runners had almost defeated her own herb gardens, especially around the perennials, whose roots she hated to disturb. To kill them utterly would mean ripping up most of Judy’s yard, which would mean hiring professionals. That the blonde professor would never agree to, since she was down to her salary only, which had to cover all her living expenses while socking something away for retirement, little by little. _So, best to just try to finish getting this bed clear, perhaps put out some weed block, with deep edging._

“Sandie?” The slight woman was standing behind her. 

Sandra twisted, shading her face with her canvas-gloved hand. “Judy, what’s up?” 

The blonde professor plopped onto the grass with an oof, then offered a hesitant smile. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about Santorini, and you’ve been out here all day working for me.” 

The chestnut-haired woman shifted to sit beside her friend. “Did you mean the Minoan sites, or my family?” She pulled off the gloves to drop them on the ground beside her. 

Judy wrapped her arms around her knees. “Both, actually.” 

Sandra sent her a lop-sided grin. “Akrotiri was amazing, and I’ve been to Pompeii. So very different. But, it’s a little sad that so many of the frescoes are gone. Since I was seeing it with Fox, who had been there before, he had us very directed as we walked through, almost as if the place made him uncomfortable.” She rubbed her forehead under the straw hat. “He apologized as he told me on the drive home that Dana had been injured there, which is why he was so upset. I’ll have to talk to her more about it.” 

“So, your family? How did that go?” The blonde professor held out a tall glass of water. “Filtered, but from the tap, just the way you prefer.” 

Sandra took several long sips. “Oh, it’s hard to say. We got along really, really well, all of us.” 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” 

“I hope so. It was our first family gathering, though. What happens in the long run, we shall see. We were on our best behavior, all of us, I was buried in my papers, and I feel like I’m just catching up. Fox was out there with them for several months, he said, while they were all searching for me.” 

The slight woman patted her friend’s arm. “Sandie, don’t be so gloomy, just because you and James fell out doesn’t mean it’s going to happen with your birth family.”

Sandra brushed dirt off her knees before she clutched them, trying to push away the bad memories of the troubles with her adoptive brother. “I really don’t want it to. Perhaps that’s why I was so hard on Fox, initially. They share many common traits: their intelligence, their odd-ball interests, with James having a law degree, while Fox is in the Bureau.” 

“But Fox isn’t like James. He has all those agents around him, Dana, and the group out here. James could never work with anyone, which is why he could never make partner, anywhere.” 

Sandra sighed. “I know. Fox was a loner for a long, long time, too, he said. But, he does seem more, centered, I guess is how to describe it. Anyway-” She shifted back onto her knees. “-I’m almost done here. Sorry things got so out of hand. I’d say you should hire someone, but I know how expenses can pile up.” 

Judy nodded. “I’m considering putting one or two of the bedrooms up for students, just to help with the money situation.” She glanced at Sandra quickly. “Oh, I’m not in any financial trouble; Tom saw to that. It’s just, I’d like to keep putting more money away, just in case.” 

“That’s probably smart. Just make sure it’s not students in your department.” 

The blonde professor nodded. “No conflicts of interest. By the way-” She paused as she checked the brunette’s face. “-is Jerry still staying with you?” 

Sandra chuckled. “No. When I was flying back, Fox called him, and whatever those two said to each other, he got all Prince Valiantish over. Something to do with Dana and the British Embassy. But, they’re okay, according to Andrea Rosen. I’ll check with her and Agent Nichols when they get back from the UK. They won’t be able to tell me about the case, unless they need my help.” She sobered. “I’m afraid I kissed him, Judy.” 

The blonde cocked her head. “You’re afraid? Why? He absolutely adores you, you know.” 

The hazel disappeared twice. “Oh, I know. We do have a good time, whenever we’re together. He’d move in in a heartbeat, if I asked. But, what I don’t know about is me. He was there at Tom’s death, and I don’t want that to be our only connection. Besides, I don’t know that I want any kind of steady male presence that’s more than a simple friendship right now, with finding my family and all, which he seems comfortable with, too. But, he’s such a decent human being though, smart and funny.” She smiled gently. “With how much he treasures his time with Maria, we could easily make a long-term connection. It’s so odd he became a detective. He could have been so much more.” She leaned back on both hands. “I know this is schoolgirl and all, but, what do you think, Judy?” 

The slight woman sighed. “Sandra, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have much sense about men, anymore. There was Tom, and what we had was so good, I don’t know if I’ll feel like looking around again, anytime soon. There’s my work, and my Mom getting older.” She patted her friend’s arm. “You’ll follow your intuition, and it’ll turn out alright, Sandie, I know that. You always do, and it always does.” 

The chestnut-haired woman picked up the trowel. “I hope so. Let me finish this off, and maybe we can get some dinner.” 

Judy pulled herself to her feet before she picked up the glass. “Okay, although I’ll make you shower first, Sandie, you’re all black streaks.” She smiled at her friend before she stepped away.

\--o-0-o--

House Derwbryn  
Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales  
Wednesday, July 29, 1998  
5:27 am

“Don’t look now, Scully, but your secret admirer is watching you.” Mulder, delighting in her barely suppressed eye-roll, smirked at his partner, tucked beside him on the oak bench. She was recovering, each day, her strength and stamina returning. 

The evening of their arrival, she had quietly asked him to join her out on this east-facing spot the following morning, when she had leaned heavily on his arm as they walked. Today, she had been pacing by the front door, waiting for him, eager to take in the view of the rolling green hills and the town of Llangollen, laid out along the River Dee. The unbroken overcast of the previous days had lifted. The light of the rising sun would set the fair-weather cumulus and cirrus clouds aflame, turn blue the mists hanging in the wrinkles of valleys, while its heat would lift haze to shroud the peak-hugging glens. The gates of the sheep pens had just opened, freeing the black, tan, and white ungulates to scatter to their favorite pastures. The frequency of whistles, barks, and shouted commands increased as their human and canine keepers attempted to guide them along.

Her chin jutted forward. “Mulder, I am *not* looking. You think you’ve seen someone every morning at sunrise in the same window, but only at sunrise. You think it’s a ghost because it looks like that portrait of Ieuan ap Gwillym ap Gwinn, the first ap Gwinn member of the Forty. But, I can only conclude it’s a trick of the light in that particular location. The glass is original to the house, one of the few left, according to Dafydd, so no telling what irregularities are in the panes.”

Now, it was his turn to growl lightly. The Cymru had been spending far too much time in his partner’s company, courting her diligently on behalf of the Forty, tempting her with the records of their history, both here in the UK, and abroad. She was being carefully non-committal, genuinely interested, but firm in her decision to remain just a G-woman, as she assured him regularly during this quiet hour before breakfast and the arrival of tourists. But he was worried that the added strain was slowing her recovery, despite the on-site nurse and visiting physical therapist.

She checked his face, hoping her next question would pull him out of his glowering darkness. “Mulder, when, exactly, are the Gunmen arriving?” 

He twisted to look down on her upturned smile. “They’re taking the train from Cardiff, so it’ll be late morning, early afternoon. Byers has planned a bit more complicated trip than they need to take, but you know him and trains.” He bent over her. “Besides, they’re on their paranoiac’s pilgrimage.” 

Her left cheek creased. “Ah. Portmeirion?” 

He tossed her a quick grin in response. “Where else? Byers and Fro had to sit Langly down and explain, firmly, that no one was allowed to spend the night in Number Six’s cottage because it’s now a gift shop, so, no, there was no point in getting here a day earlier. I expect they’ll arrive laden with boxes of Village-phenalia.” 

The spot on the left side of her forehead where curly red hairs were beginning to emerge arched. “I wonder how many ‘Be seeing you’s they’ll work into conversations over the next few days.”

He huffed softly in light-hearted agreement. As his gaze fell on the ivory knit cap she was wearing over the gauze, he noticed the little strands of red peeking out around the edges were beginning to curl. He grew somber. “You sure you’re up for this?” 

She nodded. “It’s taken me too long to get back on my feet, Mulder. We have to start disentangling the connections among the Shadows, before we lose the path along the threads we have.” She tugged at the loose polo shirt and sweater, bright red against her khakis and black sneakers. “I can wear regular clothes again, so I don’t have to worry about being embarrassed when they get here.” She patted his muscled upper arm. “Thanks for your patience. I don’t mean to hold the investigation back.” 

He shook his head. “You’re not. We’ve worked through most of Tapping’s document. We wouldn’t have had the time to do the cross-referencing with the X-Files, the D’Amato notebooks, and the evidence from the Saunders trial if we were back in the States, without Nichols and Rosen, while putting together the case against Krycek. Besides, it’s giving you the chance to really get well, Scully, which is all that matters.” 

They turned at the voices emanating from the doorway behind them. 

“See, Cary, best view in the place.” Rosen had her arm around her life partner as they walked. The brunette astronomer nodded to the two on the bench before heading down the drive.

The diminutive agent’s green-blue gaze followed the spouses until they disappeared along a bend in the path. “Good of you to pay for Cary’s tickets, Mulder. They only have Rosen’s salary to live on.” 

“I did no such thing, Scully.” They exchanged tiny grins, then, he grunted as she pushed herself to her feet. “You cold?” He brushed her elbow with his thumb. 

“Not really. Just a little stiff.” Her eyes returned to the spot where the two women had disappeared. “Rosen wants to hike Offa’s Dike for a part of its length. That’d be fun.” 

He rose. “When you’re a little bit more recovered, we’ll do that.” He pointed toward the entrance. “So, ready for some breakfast?” 

“Certes.” She was squinting at the banks of upper windows as she turned. “See, no ghostly members of the Forty, watching me.” 

“Sheah, he’s been up all night, Scully. Time for him to turn in.” 

She curled her fingers around his arm as they walked. “Howard Graves never turned in.” Her cheek creased in anticipation of the explosion she knew was coming. 

“Ah, so now, five years later, you’ll admit to him?” He bent over her as he held the door. “I *have* had an effect on you.” They walked in silence to the breakfast room, where Nichols had already piled his plate with an omelet, smoked herring, orange slices, and buttered toast.

\--o-0-o--

House Derwbryn  
Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales  
Wednesday, 12:54 pm

“So, this is it?” Scully was rotating the black tablet in her hand. 

“Sure is, Doc.” The long-haired Gunman tugged at his t-shirt, stretching the image of a penny-farthing bicycle as he did so.

“We had to custom order several chips from Japan.” Frohike adjusted his wire-rims. 

“Which probably tripped surveillance on you three.” Nichols turned to Byers. 

“Nah.” The bearded Gunman powered up his laptop. “We’ve been monitoring communications in and out of the Osaka Collective, and there’s been no mention of us.” He looked over at the diminutive agent. “They are, however, deeply concerned about what you decide, Agent Scully.” 

She handed the unit back to Langly. “Why? The Forty have been focused on the Europeans, not the Far East. Dafydd confirmed that with the rest of the Fellowship at their meeting yesterday.” 

Frohike crossed his arms. “The owner of this grand estate, Dearest Doctor?” 

“Sheah, the very same, Fro.” Mulder shook his head at the round-faced Gunman. “You three polished off his lunch just a few minutes ago, so be a little bit polite to your host.” 

“Okay,” Scully interrupted quickly. “What else have the Japanese been interested in?” 

Byers turned his laptop around. “This is the latest transcript through the device. They’re attempting to hack into the records of the U.S. Marshal’s office in San Diego. They want to know what Tapping saw before he died. They’re after the video footage we had to send to Pierce. It seems they haven’t been receiving any intel from the American organization about Tapping, so they’re trying other avenues.” 

Mulder blew out a long breath. “Nichols, I hate to say this, but-” 

“I should head back, Chief. Pierce could tolerate me, while you just sent him up a tree. What do you want me to tell him?” 

“As little as possible.” Scully lifted her gaze to catch her partner’s raised eyebrow. “I don’t trust him, at all. He’s a decorated officer, but, he’s been nothing but antagonistic with the other law enforcement agencies in the area. That’s not usual for a Marshal.” 

Her partner bent over her shoulder. “As if he’s being blackmailed?” 

“Whoa!” The round-faced Gunman held up a gloved hand. “That’s a leap, even for you two. We’ve never uncovered any questions on the loyalty of the Marshal’s Service.” 

“We’ve probed suspicions of everywhere else, including the State Department.” Langly pushed his hair back off his face. 

Byers cut him an odd glance. “We can check into that, but, there’s more involved with the Japanese you guys need to know about.” 

Mulder held out both hands. “So, enlighten us.” 

Byers pulled up a map of the Hawaiian Islands on the screen. “We’ve seen suspicious activities connected with Osaka on the Big Island, Lanai, Oahu, and Kauai. You remember the condos on Santorini that were half occupied, but hugely profitable?” He waited through a pair of nods. “That same pattern is repeating itself there. Luxury condos, built, but rarely rented, still rolling in the bucks.” 

Langly leaned forward to tap a key. A blow-up of the Kona coast of the Big Island appeared. “Prime real estate, just sitting vacant. There’s been no chatter on the encrypted communications about this, as if they didn’t know.” 

Rosen crossed her legs at the ankles. “Or, it’s so common a part of their interactions that they don’t think it’s worth mentioning.” 

Nichols turned to his former partner. “As if it’s how they all operate. We should check their other properties, once we get some information on them, around the Far East.” He bumped her arm with his elbow. “Looks like you and Cary won’t get that hike in before we head back, Ros.” 

She sighed. “Just as well, Nic. Cary’s knee is starting to bother her. She may have to have surgery, unfortunately. Too much bending to take care of her Mom.” 

“That’s too bad.” The ASAC shook his head sympathetically. “She’s been having a great time here.” 

Scully reached for her laptop. “I’ve downloaded the Dine-encoded files from the MJ tape, so we can present them to Albert.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know why Director Skinner had such problems. I made multiple print-outs for study back in the basement office after the Thinker met with Mulder, and I’ve been making multiple copies on CD now to distribute to X-Files West as well.” 

Rosen slid to her feet to stand beside the diminutive agent. “They’re not getting garbled?” 

Scully loaded a silver disk into the laptop. After a few moments, the Dine appeared. “So far as I can tell, it’s the same from file to file. I’ve printed out a page or two just to check. See?” She held the paper by the screen. As she scrolled through, they both read. 

Rosen straightened from her crouch over the pathologist’s shoulder. “Looks the same to me, Scully.”

“Okay.” Mulder held up both hands. “We need to put together a plan to divide and conquer.” He pointed to the Gunmen. “You guys, keep on the surveillance of the Japanese. The Internet here is super, according to the Doctor, so you three can keep on working.” 

Byers chuckled. “In swankier digs then we’re used to, Mulder.”

The tall agent turned to the ASAC. “Nichols, we’ll get you on your way back to San Diego with Rosen and Cary. Scully and I will stay here to meet with Albert and his son when they arrive.” He turned to his partner. “You up to that, Scully?” 

She was beginning to feel slightly smothered by his intense concern for her well-being. “I’ve had about as much pampering as I should allow myself, Mulder. We have work to do. I never liked having to let go of the paper copies in New Mexico.” However, with the raw pain accompanying any deep breath only now beginning to lose its edge, that conversation would wait until they were back in DC. She reached for his shoulder to silently offer her gratitude.

He eyed her sadly. “If you hadn’t, you would have been dead. You know it.”

\--o-0-o--

United States Penitentiary, Allenwood  
Gregg Township, Pennsylvania  
Friday, July 31, 1998  
11:03 am

Walter Skinner steeled his face as the door opened. Alex Krycek, in an orange prison jumpsuit, chains, and double cuffs, was being led in slowly by two U.S. Marshals. Once he was locked to a bar on the end of the table, the Marshals stepped back. Skinner looked to his left. It was odd that Terry Phillips had asked to accompany them, but he assumed it was to gain experience to expand her professional portfolio. On his right, Bill Stickle sat quietly, opening and closing his notepad. 

The bald Director glowered at the dark-haired man. “Alright, Krycek. You asked to see us, today, when your preliminary hearing is next Monday. Are you here to discuss the deal?” 

Krycek glared back. “I’m not saying anything without my lawyer present.” 

Stickle cleared his throat. “That would be Charles William Whittington the Third from the firm of Houlihan, Jackson, Shepherd, and Whittington?”

Krycek only emitted a snort, until he glanced at Terry Phillips, then he drew back in shock. “What did I ever do to you, lady?” 

Her face was twisted, nearly unrecognizable, with rage. “You hurt a fellow federal officer, all in the name of power and revenge. You, a trained agent.” She leaned over the table. “What gave you the right?” She pounded the table with her fist. “Tell me!” 

Krycek turned to Skinner. “What? Did Mulder have a sex change? Who is this?” 

“This is Special Agent Theresa Phillips, PhD, as you well know. Answer her question.” The bald Director’s jaw jutted. He had had enough of the younger man’s misogyny toward his female agents. 

“Not without my lawyer.” He tried to cross his arms, but the cuffs prevented it, so he settled for another snort and glare. 

“Then we’ll sit here until he does.” The former Marine gritted his teeth. 

The door opened, then a tall, distinguished grey-haired man stepped through. “Ah, I see we are all assembled.” He placed a hand on Krycek’s shoulder. “I trust you have been discreet?” 

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ve been discreet! What else could I be?” He rattled his chains for emphasis. 

There was a momentary clench of Whittington’s jaw, then all was tranquility. “Very well.” He offered his hand to the three agents in turn, before placing his briefcase on the wood as he was settling into his chair. “With the preliminaries out of the way, let us begin.” He flipped open a notebook inscribed with the firm’s name in gold letters. “So, why did you call my client in today?” 

Skinner turned, the silky-smooth baritone having set his nerves on edge. “It was your client who called this meeting, Mister Whittington.” 

Krycek leaned over the table. “I have information. I want to trade it to stay out of prison.” 

“What information would that be, Krycek?” The brunette agent’s face was twisted into a snarl. 

The dark-haired man pushed his hair off his face with his right hand, the left dangling by the chain, then snorted. “Hey, Phillips, back off. I don’t answer to threats. What gives you the right, anyway?” 

She clenched her fists. “I work in the X-Files East section. Dana Scully is my boss. You tortured her.” 

Krycek shook his head before leaning toward Skinner. “Look, I don’t need the attack dog routine. I want to tell what I know in exchange for my freedom.” 

The bald Director glared back. “So, Krycek, what do you have? The MJ tape is with Mulder and Scully. Albert Hosteen is translating it right now. In case you didn’t notice in your jaunts through the criminal underworld, Mulder and Scully have put the entirety of the X-Files in the public domain, as well as the D’Amato papers on the origins of the Shadow governments. There are trial records laying out more details. I don’t think there is much you have to offer, you rabid weasel.” 

“That will be enough, Director Skinner. We are here to discuss a plea deal on potential murder charges for the death of William Mulder.” Whittington placed a palm on Krycek’s shoulder. 

Stickle shifted in his chair, but said nothing. 

The bespectacled man shook his head. “Krycek, I don’t think you understand. We have your Bureau-issued weapon, taken directly from your possession by Dana Scully. We have the slug taken from William Mulder. We have a verified match between the two. You’re going away for a very, very long time. Good thing for you Massachusetts no longer has a death penalty.” 

Whittington held up his hand, palm toward the Bureau officers. “Now, you have no proof that Alex was the one who fired the gun, do you?” 

Skinner snorted. “We lifted three different sets of fingerprints off the handle: Professor Andrea Rosen’s, Doctor and Agent Dana Scully’s, and Alex Krycek’s. The sets from Scully and Rosen were recent, easily verified, and just one each. Scully had touched the trigger; Rosen had not. Krycek’s prints were all over the handle, muzzle, and trigger, some clear, some smudged from repeated application, so the weapon had not been wiped. None other were found. Scully’s and Rosen’s whereabouts at the time of William Mulder’s deaths have been verified. Neither were in West Tisbury at the time. Alex Krycek used his personal credit card to purchase gas in Chilmark two hours before the murder. So, where does that leave your client, Mister Whittington?”

The grey-haired attorney chuckled. “Right where we were a few moments ago. You still have no proof Alex fired the shot that killed William Mulder, just circumstance. You know what I can do with that, Mister Skinner, don’t you? If you put my client on trial, I will have him tell everything he knows on the stand, from the witness box. Everything. Are you sure you want that to happen, Director?” 

Phillips and Stickle both looked at Skinner, who was shaking his head. “That won’t help. I won’t be subjected to judicial blackmail, Mister Whittington.” He rose. “We’ll see you in court.” He looked down at the agents on his side of the table. “We’re finished here. Let’s go.” 

As they were leaving, Phillips leaned over the top. “You monster. You cut off her hair! What gave you the right? You tortured one of the finest agents in the Bureau!” 

Krycek snarled. “Really? That’s what you think of Mulder’s squealing little whore? Or have you already stolen him away?” He held up his fists. “Get out of my face, you bitch!” 

“You’re going to rot in hell for the rest of your life, you lying, thieving, backstabbing Judas!” She spun, then stalked out the door without another word.

\--o-0-o--

House Derwbryn  
Llangollen, Denbighshire, Wales  
Friday, August 7, 1998  
11:21 am

Albert Hosteen laid down his pen. “That is all. If that White Man is still as clever as he was when I knew him, he would do well to be afraid. His secrets are in here, as there are of many others.” 

“Who are now dead, Albert.” Scully eyed him soberly. “But, there was enough in there on the Europeans to give us a start.” 

The white-haired Dine was staring out the floor to ceiling windows. “Such green land. Why would anyone ever want to leave?” 

Dafydd ap Gwinn smiled from his perch in the corner, his gaze still on Scully. “It was not always thus. The coal did much damage to beautiful Cymru, the English before that-” 

“And the Vikings before that.” Mulder offered a small grin to Albert. “You son has been walking for miles and miles. We’ve barely seen him.”

“Indeed. We have ancestors here, from a woman in our past, so he is searching for where they lived. I hope he finds what we are seeking.” Albert eyed the dark-haired agent. “You have found your truth, then, FBI man?” 

Mulder knew he could contribute next to nothing to the technical aspects of decryption and documentation. Instead, he had been leaning against the fireplace, watching his partner typing and reading, relieved she had been moving without pain for the past day or so, amused each time she pushed her lengthening auburn curls back under her knit cap to keep them off her forehead. “For some things. For others, these documents just revive questions we thought we had answered.” 

“We wouldn’t want all the answers, Mulder, or else we would have no reason to keep looking.” The partners exchanged a glance. 

“But you, FBI Woman, you are still seeking your truth.” 

She sighed. “I am. But, it isn’t here.” She tapped the papers in front of her. “This verified some of my memories, but not all of them. I’m concerned about putting this information on the Web, Mulder.” 

He settled beside her. “Because there are living persons mentioned in it?” 

She shook her head. “No, they have a right to know. But, what’s here on the Europeans, that should be held back, or else they will just terminate the operations mentioned here and we won’t have anything to follow.” She lifted a page. “Look, here in the Orkneys, for instance.” 

Albert smiled as he nodded to someone behind her. 

Mulder smirked. “Scully, it’s your admirer. Ieuan’s back.” 

She favored him with a quick eye-roll. “Mulder, I don’t have admirers.” She tapped the papers. “I think- What?” She swiveled in her chair. “Oh.” 

“Yes, you do, Riata.” Ap Gwinn offered the silent form a wave. 

“Now that spirit is at peace.” Albert nodded. “He is going.” 

Mulder leaned into her gaze. “What did you see, Scully?” 

Her forehead wrinkled. “There was something shimmering behind me. It must have been the light from the window interacting with airborne particulates.” 

“Must have been,” the tall agent agreed amiably. 

Frohike stepped into the room. “Guys, there’s been a lot of traffic back and forth across the Pacific. The Osaka group is preparing some kind of shipment, but they’re not giving out details on what and when.” 

Scully typed several commands on the laptop, then a separate X Window popped up on the screen. “Then, give me an encrypted file, and I’ll pass it on in an e-mail to Nichols.” 

Frohike waved a gloved hand. “Already done, Agent Scully. I just wanted to let you guys know.” 

Ap Gwinn released a long sigh. “I’ll miss this, Riata.” 

She turned to look up at him. “Oh, we’ll be back. You’ve been a delightful host, Cymru, but there is much we still need to follow up on.” 

He was standing over her. “You must come to the Suola, you and the Atrebates. You have returned Brother Suebi to us, and we need to offer you our gratitude.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

She glanced at her partner, then shook her head. “That will have to be in the future, Cymru. Right now, there is work we need to do back in the States.”

The door opened, then, a few moments later, a black-haired man stepped in. “I have found records, but that is all. I have no sense of her, in any of the places I have walked.” 

Albert nodded. “That is enough. We will leave this green land and take what we have learned home.” 

“After lunch,” ap Gwinn protested. “We will make your travel plans after lunch.”

\--o-0-o--

Suola di Atene  
Cambridge England, UK  
Sunday, August 9, 1998  
7:02 pm

“We are many, we are one!” The Pict raised his cane in triumph. 

“We are many, we are one!” Thirty-eight voices returned. 

Leaning on his lion, the Pict turned to the Brother on the other side of the dais. “Brother Cymru, how goes it with the Riata? Will she be joining us?” 

Ap Gwinn bowed deeply, issued the incantation, then sighed. “She is with us in spirit, Brother Pict.” 

“But not in the flesh. Not visible.” His green eyes closed. “She is always with us, in the Spirit.” 

“Shall we remove the chalk banner?” The Slav remained in her seat adjacent to the Riata’s. 

“We shall, Sister.” The Suebi smiled at her suggestion. “She survived the initiation of Gradus Absoluta. She saved me. She will be with us in the flesh.” He rose, then bowed to the men on the dais. “Come, Brothers. Let us make her high seat ready.” He stood behind the tall back, as the Cymru descended to wait by the front. Between them, they lifted the long white strip of satin draped from the floor in the back to in the front, folded it, then linked arms in a Roman handshake. 

“It is good we were not called to lay this on your seat, Brother. You bring much to the Fellowship.” 

The Suebi bowed his long head. “Now we have hope.” 

The Cymru carried the banner up the stairs before sliding it into the Pict’s waiting hands. The older man placed a gentle kiss on the fabric, then the gleaming white disappeared behind a black granite lid, inscribed with a circle and forty wavy rays. The Pict closed the lid. “The Riata has returned to us!”

“We are many, we are one!” The incantation echoed resoundingly off the paneled walls. 

The Danaan rose. “Until our Sister joins us, there is much work we need to do.” He held up a sheet, folded in thirds. “I have a request from Kilkee in Munster, for help rebuilding a sea-wall. Does the Ekklesia choose to offer their assistance? It is but a pittance.” 

“We shall.” Thirty-eight voices were united in their reply.

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Sunday, 5:31 pm

Fox Mulder dumped the contents of his second load of laundry on his bed as he sighed. He was unpacked, his clothes were done, but there were fifteen long hours before he could reasonably head in to work. He’d sleep five of those, if he was lucky, while the rest of the time would be spent desultorily considering which part of the MJ documents he would discuss with his partner when she arrived. He had internally debated calling her, several times, while he had idly watched his laundry spin in the basement of his apartment building, but, each time, had decided against it. She needed her rest, but would never ask for it, especially after how she and Albert had spent the flight across the Atlantic reviewing the contents of the tape. He had watched over her shoulder, as more unbelievable, frankly execrable, facts had appeared on her laptop screen. _The leper colonies were the least of it._

He checked his watch. _Not quite fifteen hours._ He stared at the tangle of socks, then reached slowly into the pile, before he jumped back. _The phone. Finally._ He tugged the black unit out of his jeans pocket, checked the number, then grinned. “Mulder.” 

“Mulder, it’s me.” 

He collapsed on the bed, bouncing most of the laundry onto the carpet. “What’s up, Scully?” 

“Ah, I was thinking about the specific countries in the European organization once I got unpacked. As crazy as it sounds, in sticky DC August, I’m still cold, Mulder, so I picked up the ingredients for a salad and lentil soup. The greens at House Derwbryn were just so delicious. Anyway, as I was drawing up diagrams of potential interactions, I accidentally made too much. Do you feel like a vegan dinner tonight? I’m sorry, I didn’t put anything much in it. Or, have you already eaten?” 

He chuckled. “My manliness will survive even if I don’t rip apart raw steaks with my bare hands every night, Doctor.” He sat upright. “You need anything else?”

“Not really. Some bread.” 

He was grinning broadly. “Yeah, sure. Whole wheat olive?” 

“Of course. And, some balsamic vinegar. I don’t have enough for a good dressing. I was planning on picking up some on the way back from Dulles last month.” 

He let out as high a warble as he could manage. “See, now you’ve got me singing soprano, Doctor.” 

She suppressed a chuckle. “No Royal David’s Citying for you, G-man.” 

He huffed. “Sheah. That’s why I went to *Oxford*. The *other* university.”

“You shan’t let me forget it either, Mulder. Anyway, when you’re here, you can look over my scribbles and see how much you can improve on them.”

He left his bedroom without a backward glance. “So, what did you find so fascinating in your antiquarian researches into the Venetian Republic?” 

A pause, then a lilt crept into the alto. “Over dinner, Mulder. We’ll debate la Serenissima over beans and greens and stout brown bread. If we start this discussion over the phone, I’ll end up dropping mine in the soup. Besides, I’m looking forward to discussing this face to face.” 

_As am I._ “Great, Scully. Thanks.” He was stuffing his keys in his pocket as he walked toward the door. _Not fifteen hours, after all._

\--o-0-o--

X-Files East Offices  
FBI Washington Field Office  
Washington, DC  
Monday, August 10, 1998  
7:04 am

Dana Scully looked up from her keyboard at the tapping of Cynthia’s heels on the tile. “Cyndie?” 

Her brown hair in a ponytail, she stepped into the doorway between their offices. “Agent Scully? Are you okay now?” 

The auburn-haired agent rose. “Yes, Cynthia, I am. The rib will take a bit more time to heal, but it’s not holding me back.” She held out her arms, smiling when the brunette settled gently against her. “See, doesn’t hurt a bit.” 

Cynthia giggled. “That’s good, Agent Scully. I was so worried.” 

“What?” The lilting tenor came from the doorway. “This is free hugs day and no one told me?” He trotted over to wrap his arms around the younger woman momentarily. “Good to see you, Cyndie.” 

She looked up at him with a broad grin. “Agent Mulder. You’re such a card.” 

He stepped away. “Don’t see how you stood the quiet around here, Ma’am.” 

She smiled at them both. “But, not anymore.” She padded back to her front desk. 

He turned to his partner. “So, what do we tell Skinner?” 

“I’d rather think it was more what I needed to tell you, Agents.” Walter Skinner was in the doorway, his hands on his hips. “Krycek is up to his usual tricks. When you have a moment, Mulder, Scully?” 

They exchanged a glance before following him around to his desk. Once they were settled, the diminutive agent leaned forward. “What is he up to now, Sir?” 

The bald Director flipped open a file. “First, Agent Scully, let me say how grateful I am to see you up on your feet. Leaving one of my best agents flat on her back on the other side of the Atlantic is not how I like to run my operations.” 

After sending a quick smile to her partner, she offered her superior a single nod. “I was in good hands, Sir, not that I’d recommend the experience to anyone else. But, thank you for your concern.” 

He sighed. “Perhaps you’ll want to take a few more days, after I tell you what that weasel has cooked up now.” He slid a folder across the desk.

Picking it up, she turned over the pages, then passed it to her partner.

After reading the contents, Mulder slapped the papers back on the desktop with a growl. “Suing the Bureau? Suing Agent Scully for physical mistreatment? Is he serious?” 

Skinner leaned forward. “Unfortunately, yes. The judge at the preliminary took one look at our evidence and shipped Krycek back to prison without recourse to bond. This was his attorney’s brilliant come-back.” He shook his head. “Charles William-” 

“Whittington the Third.” The agents finished for him. 

“We’ve had dealings with him before, Sir.” Mulder rolled his eyes. 

“As have I.” The Director spoke without moving his jaw. “He’s the ambulance chaser of choice for our friends on the dark side.” 

“Yes.” The diminutive agent nodded. “We’ve gathered that. As for the lawsuit, I’m a Civil Servant-” 

“But you can still be sued as an individual, Scully,” Mulder shook his head. “That case has already been settled, not in our favor. We’ll have to head to the Hoover Building this afternoon to talk to Legal. You’re not facing this on your own.” He leaned toward her from his seat. “Trust me on that.” 

Skinner opened another folder. “As for Krycek’s trial, Whittington threatened to expose me as a former operative to the Smoker as a distraction for the jury, and to discredit the Bureau in their eyes. I’d like to derail that possibility today.” He crossed his hands on the papers. “These are my recollections that we used to train Schiffeln. I want you to add them to your web-sites, Agents. All of them. Nip this in the bud for me.” 

The dark-haired agent turned. “Sir? Are you sure? This will have an impact on your life, professionally and personally. Are you ready for that?”

The bespectacled Director nodded. “I’ve discussed this with Sharon, Senator Matheson, Director Freeh, and the Attorney General, in that order. They’ve all said they’ll back any decision I make.” He pushed the folder over to them. “This is it.” 

Scully picked it up. “Okay. Then we’ll get this to the Gunmen to add along with Marshal Tapping’s document. We’re taking them the portions of the MJ documents that pertain to the American organization as well. It’s mostly of historical interest now, but, it needs to get out there, too.” 

Mulder arched his shoulders. “We’re holding back the information on the Japanese and European organizations until we can put those portions to investigative use. It’ll give us a head start in certain areas we didn’t have before.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist glanced at her partner. “We’re handling Mulder’s Father’s diaries the same way. We know they didn’t know what was in them until we turned them over. But, we’re keeping all sections on the Forty back. The Ekklesia has agreed to help us bring the Europeans to justice. This will keep them safely hidden so they can continue their work from their end.” 

Skinner eyed her carefully. “Agent Scully, I need to ask-” 

She sighed, then tucked her chin. “I’m an agent and pathologist in the Federal Bureau of Investigations, Sir, nothing more. Not the Riata. Not the woman on the high seat.” She studied her hands for a moment. “This wasn’t something they asked of us. This was something we offered. We need allies. If the Senate turns over in the upcoming election, we’ll need their help, more than ever. You know the Smoker has cultivated members of Congress in the other party, and they will be perfectly happy to deny Senator Matheson’s requests for funds for us. That’s how it works in DC.” She looked up at him. “We need to continue to move forward, Sir, not let all the good efforts by so many, some of whom are no longer with us, be buried with no results.” 

The Director turned to the tall man sprawled beside her. “Agent Mulder? Do you agree with this?” 

He straightened. “I do, Sir. It was hard making those contacts on the Hill so I could pursue the X-Files, connections that were almost lost.” He nodded his thanks to Walter Skinner, who inclined his head once in return. After a pause, the partners exchanged a glance before the dark-haired agent finished for them both. “But, if we’re careful and pay attention, we can advance the work. We can continue to expose the misuse of taxpayer funds for undemocratic ends. We’re supposed to protect and defend the Constitution and the American people. We’re just being intelligent about it, here.” 

Dark eyes narrowed behind round lenses. “Do you trust them?” 

“No, Sir.” The response from the partners was simultaneous. 

Scully straightened in her chair. “But, for now, the Forty want what we want. As long as that is true, we will work cooperatively with them. If that ceases to be so, we will add the de-encrypted records of Mulder’s father on them to the web-page. It’s our insurance, Sir.”

The metal creaked as the bald Director leaned back. “Then, you have my support. I’ll schedule a meeting on your return from Legal with Senator Matheson, so he will be aware of your plans. Thank you, both.” He handed the papers on the lawsuit to Scully, then opened another folder as they left, Mulder walking a polite half-step behind her. 

Once the partners were around the corner, Walter Skinner quietly contemplated the entryway they had used to exit. _Not all Mondays are bad days. This will work._

\--o-0-o--

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Monday, 8:17 pm

Fox Mulder dropped his running shoe on the futon at the knock on the door. “Coming!” There was no response, which immediately had him seeking the location of his SIG. _There, next to the answering machine._ He slid his weapon free, then padded to the hall. A peek through the spyhole had him lowering the gun. His partner was without, still in the pale green shell and charcoal suit she had worn to work, but she had swapped out the flat black pumps for her equally dark walking shoes. To his surprise, she was pacing, chewing her lip, not standing rigid in front of the bronze numbers as she usually would. He unlocked the door. “Hey, Scully, what’s up?” 

She was almost at the far end of the short hall as she turned. Eyeing his faded Bureau t-shirt and tight-fitting shorts, she took a step back. “Oh, my apologies, Mulder, I’ll let you get to your run.” She started toward the elevator. 

But he grasped her arm as she passed him. “No, not a problem. I got one in this morning, and I was a little bored, so I thought I’d work off some of those beans and greens and stout brown bread someone made me eat last night.” 

She sent him a small grin, which told him whatever had her spinning outside his entry couldn’t be dire. “Thank you. It was nice to sleep in my own bed, even if it’s getting too soft for me.” 

He tugged at her jacket sleeve. “Scully, come in.” 

She let herself be guided through the opening. “I’ll not keep you for long, in case you change your mind. I just needed to give you an update and get some advice.” 

That brought him to a halt, but not turning to face her. _She needs my advice?_ “Hey, grab whatever’s non-toxic in the fridge and I’ll be right there.” He raced to the bedroom to quickly throw a pair of jeans over the black latex shorts. When he returned, she was poised primly on the edge of one of the mission chairs, a water bottle balanced on her palm. _Whatever you want to say to me, Scully, you look like you’ve thought about it so much you’ve memorized it already._ He flopped into the other. “So, go.” He tugged at her sleeve again. 

She rotated the plastic, a ring of condensation collecting in her hand, then looked over at him. “Mulder, first, I’m here looking for the advice of a friend who understands the situation. I don’t want this to obstruct or derail our work in any way. But, I don’t know whom to consult other than you.” 

He shifted. _No, it’s serious._ “I’m listening.” He held out both hands. “Please.” 

She set the bottle on one of the tiles of the coffee table. “I received two phone calls tonight, one right after the other.” She settled back an inch or two. “Caroline called.” She allowed herself a gentle smile. “You Mother is just the soul of graciousness, Mulder. She thanked me for my help with Sandra, getting you two together, and to Santorini.” 

He nodded, but said nothing. 

“Then, she apologized for not filling me in on the situation with your Father’s final resting place.” She rubbed both hands together. “I told her, and I meant this sincerely, that she had nothing to apologize for. You, she, and your Father had entered into a confidential agreement. She kept that confidence, which was the honorable thing to do.” She reached for his dangling fingers. “So did you, until it became part of an investigation, when there can be no secrets between us.” 

He returned the clasp, then propped his chin in his palm. “Agreed, Scully. Why do I have the feeling there’s another shoe?” 

She sighed as she slid her hand back into her lap. “Your sister is Caroline’s daughter, in every way. But, she’s used to life in a relatively sane world, which isn’t ours.” They exchanged small grins. “Once she learned we were in the UK she took it upon herself, with only kindness in her heart, to alert my family that we were overseas, simply as a precaution.” 

“Ah.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “That probably didn’t sit well with the Paterfamilias, did it?” 

She shook her head. “Fortunately, it was my Mom who answered the phone, so kept it quiet. It was Mom who called me right after Caroline. She had left several messages on my answering machine from her cell while we were away but I hadn’t yet returned them. She was babysitting while Bill and Liz were out grocery shopping, so she could speak without interruption.” 

He settled against the thin cushion, throwing out his arm to touch the back of her seat. “How much did you tell her?” 

She shook her left hand, sending what few drops remained onto the wool Navajo rug. “Only the barest minimum required. We were investigating some information we had recently uncovered, data that took us overseas. Not anything about your Father, the Forty, or Gradus Absoluta, and nothing about my stay in the hospital, or why. She liked hearing about House Derwbryn, though. I knew she would.” 

“Then, you did right, Scully.” He touched her arm. “So, why did you need my advice?” 

She settled back, then rubbed her eyes. “I need to warn Sandra about my brothers, and I need to be careful.” She looked over at him again. “You, Caroline, Max, and she are just at the beginning of becoming a real family, and I don’t want my problems to interfere with that in any way.” She clasped her hands together, interlacing the fingers, before dropping her gaze to her knuckles. “It upset her so when we told her the truth about the Smoker. I need to pick my words carefully so that won’t happen again.” She sent him a tentative half-smile. “Human interactions are such a mine field. You’ve spent time with her, Mulder. How should I go about this?” 

He chewed his lip for a moment, then queried Socratically, “How would you tell me?” 

She arched her shoulders. “I’d lay out the facts dispassionately, but not embellish, waiting for you to ask me questions so we could hash it out between us. Then, I’d try to summarize what we needed to know. If Sandra and I were discussing some research, or participating in an investigation together, I’d do the same.” 

He patted her shoulder. “Then, try that. We can give her a call now, if that would help.” He bent forward. “Would you like to place this call from the Gunmen’s so it’s encrypted?

She shook her short auburn curls. “No, there’s nothing we’ll be discussing that we need to keep concealed, but, the Guys don’t need to hear my problems either. We take up enough of their time and energy with our X-Files investigations.”

He snorted. “Besides, Bill might pop a gasket when he pulled open the front door at the sight of a short, bespectacled knight in chain mail, challenging him to a duel with a sword at his throat.” He grasped his own neck with both hands, then let out a few choking gasps in mockery. At her delighted smile, he rose to retrieve his cordless landline phone, which he rested beside the clear plastic. “Although, knowing Sandie, once she heard about your troubles, Scully, I’d half expect *her* to fly to the East Coast and give him a good sock in the jaw.” He reached for the water bottle. _Unopened, as I expected._ “I’ve thought about that myself, but, it would only make matters worse. She could get away with it.” 

She reached for his arm. “Thank you. If you don’t mind?” 

He passed the black unit to her before settling back in the chair.

The diminutive agent leaned forward. “What’s her number again?” 

He pointed. “Number four, Scully. I dropped the Miami house number because Mom and Max haven’t used it in a year and a half.” 

A single tap. “This is her cell phone?” She put the unit on broadcast.

“Yeah. I probably won’t call her at her- Hey, Sandie!” 

“Fox? Is that you? Are you and Dana okay?” 

He grinned. “Yeah, we are. Scully’s here, too. We needed to speak with you about something.” The hazel canted toward his partner. 

Scully clasped her hands together again. “Sandra, first of all, thank you for calling my family to let them know I was out of the country. That was very kind of you, and something I don’t always remember to do.” 

A growl-chuckle issued from the standing unit. “Not a problem, Dana. I take it you’d rather keep your professional life separate from your family life? Is this some Bureau protocol I’ve stepped on?” 

The auburn curls bobbed up and down. “Yes, and no. Sometimes our cases take us from one end of the country to the other on a few minutes notice, and it’s hard even for us to keep track.” She and her partner exchanged smirks. “As far as the Bureau goes, as long as it doesn’t compromise operations, they don’t issue any particular guidance. They train us to use our independent judgment.” 

“But not always in the cases of the X-Files, Sandra.” Mulder twisted on the seat. “Usually, the less the Bureau political types are aware of what we do, the better off we are.” 

“Okay, I’ll remember that.” A slight cough emanated from the speaker. “Now, other shoe?” 

Scully canted her green-blue eyes quickly toward her partner, who was wiggling with glee at his sister’s choice of phrase. “Here it is. There’s a situation in my personal life you need to be aware of. The whys and the wherefores aren’t important; in fact, I don’t quite understand how this all developed myself, but, my brothers aren’t very happy with me right now.” 

A snort rattled out of the tiny speaker. “Dana, I don’t mean to belittle your concerns, but, that’s crazy. They should be proud and thrilled to have someone as accomplished as you for a sister. I know I would be. But, okay, sorry to interrupt. Go on.” 

When her partner pushed on her shoulder, the diminutive agent glanced over, just catching the smirk on his ‘Told you so!’ face. “No, no, Sandra, that’s alright. I appreciate the support.” 

“They’re Navy, aren’t they?” 

“Yes, both of them are, just as my Father was.” 

“Yeah.” Sandra drew out the word into three syllables. “We get enough of those types around the area with the Naval bases. They’re all for family, family, as long as it’s a specific and very limited definition of one.” She snorted. “Let me guess, they think it’s wrong you’re single, devoted to your work, not even dating or especially concerned.” 

The dark-haired agent crossed his arms. “We’ll have to catch you up, Sandie. They don’t get that women are people first, with brains and character and heart.” He couldn’t help but send a broad grin to his partner, who was still staring at her hands, her face coloring. “They’d rather specific classes of humanity stay in the boxes they’ve created in their own minds. We have those types in the Bureau.” 

A sigh emerged noisily from the phone. “Yeah, women are all just supposed to be walking fetus factories, according to them. We get the right-wing religious spouting ‘Family Values’ out here, too. So, Dana, how do you want me to handle this?” 

Scully sent her gratitude to her partner with a glance, then faced the phone. “Caroline knows how this work goes, Sandra, and how crazy our lives can become at times, so you can discuss this with her, quite freely. My mother understands a little bit of what we do, but, I keep the more unpleasant details from her. My brothers-” She paused to shake her head. “-I only speak with them when it’s unavoidable.”

“And you’d like me to do the same? I can handle that.” They heard the sound of a mockingbird in the background. “Salazar, don’t!” 

The auburn-haired woman smiled, broadly and genuinely. “You’re working out in your lovely garden right now, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, I am. I was thinking of trying some vegetables next year, just to see how they would go. Our seasons are different from back east, so maybe I could do some warmer-weather vegetables in the fall and winter. That might be fun.” Another sigh issued from the speaker. “But, Dana, back to your concerns. Leave your brothers to their own devices, but your Mom may need an ear?” 

Scully began with bob of forehead-hugging auburn curls. “Just keep things light with her. She’s under enough strain as it is because she’s staying with my older brother. She spent time with Caroline and Max overseas last year and earlier this year, so she knows the world is a bit bigger place than my brothers understand it is.” 

“Yeah, I get it.” There was a pause. “Um, guys?” 

The partners exchanged a glance before Mulder replied, “Yeah, Sandra?” 

They heard a breath, released through clenched teeth. “One thing you need to know about my past.” There was a longer pause. “I have an adoptive brother you need to watch out for.” 

Scully leaned toward the speaker. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, not as in the sense of look out to take care of, but look out to avoid.” Another long pause had the partners both frowning. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant. He was first in his class in Harvard Law. He’s a lot like you, Fox, but he kind-of, ah, went wrong, as much as I hate to admit that about him.” 

The auburn-haired pathologist checked the tall agent’s face. It was clear and untroubled, so she spoke to his sister in San Diego instead. “Okay.”

“But he never had anyone like you to work with, Dana, someone to help him focus, channel his talents and abilities. Even when he was kid, he was always off making up harebrained schemes or chasing crazy ideas. After our parents’s deaths, he became detached from normal society.” 

Mulder’s long fingers gently wrapped the slight palm resting on the flat arm of the mission chair beside his. “Yeah, I get that.” 

“He’s never been able to settle or make a success of himself. I have to bail him out financially every few months when he runs through his friends from law school. Once he finds out about you, Fox, as well as how much Bill Mulder left each of us in trust, and he will, he’ll assume that because you’re connected to me, you’re connected to him. He’ll come begging. You need to not give him the time of day, or even a dime.” 

The slight digits tightened around the broad palm before she slid her hand away. “Brothers. What can you do with them? Should we alert Caroline and Max?” 

“We should. He won’t stop at the water’s edge in his pursuit of cash.” 

“Okay, we will.” Scully leaned forward to catch her partner’s hazel gaze, speaking directly into his face. “But, remember, not all brothers are pains in the posteriors. Some of them are the best people you can ever know.” 

As his cheeks colored, the dark-haired man’s eyes dropped to his knees. 

They heard Sandra cough. “Agreed. Well, it’s late back east. I should let you guys go?” 

Mulder nodded. “Yeah, I think so. With us needing to head to the West Coast to investigate semi-regularly, I’m sure we’ll see you soon. I call Mom and Max when they’re up, Sandie.” 

The pathologist leaned toward the phone. “Indeed, Sandra, thanks for being so understanding. My brothers are good men and they love their families, but they have-” 

“A different world view. Not a problem, at all. Bye.” 

The dark-haired agent placed the unit in its base before standing over her. “So, that help?” 

His diminutive partner nodded. “It did.” She rose to look back up at him. “Every time, except for that visit to her lab, I think how sane and centered your sister is, and I realize, in a way, Mulder, you’ve had it harder than she did.” 

They were walking to the door together. “Oh?” The tall agent looked over. 

She stopped to blink up at him. “You always ask: why her, why not me? I think it was you, Mulder.” She brushed her fingers over his elbow. “You were aware of her loss, while she wasn’t. She got to make herself who she wanted to be, while you had so little to cling to, except a giant, unwanted burden that should be placed on no child. Those evil men left you and Caroline no room to maneuver.” 

He dropped a hand to her shoulder. “I’ve had enough, Scully, or, at least, I feel like that now.” He held her gaze for a moment. “I thought our work was starting to wind down. But, after reading through the contents of the MJ tape...” He shook his head as he crossed his arms. 

She sent him a dazzling smile. “You realized there’s more to do than just mustering the Tooks and Proudfoots to send Old Sharkey packing?” 

“Proudfeet!” His cheek morphed into a lop-sided grin. “Your schematics from yesterday evening got me thinking. There’s more from the European sections of the tape I’d like to work through with you. You up for a late dinner, or are you good?” 

She tucked her chin. “Something light, so we can just talk. I have leftovers, if that would do.” 

“You just offered a committed bachelor free food, Doctor Scully. What do you think?” He smirked, then issued a theatrical sniff before heading toward his bedroom. “Let me put on something a little less salty.” He disappeared behind the wall separating the two spaces. 

She leaned against the cabinet by the door, waiting. When he emerged, in his jeans and an untucked tan polo shirt, she straightened. “So, you saw the encrypted E-mail from Nichols about the Osaka businesses in Honolulu before you left?” 

He waited for her to exit, then locked the door. “Sure did. I think we need to head out to the Aloha State to investigate.” They began walking comfortably, side-by-side, to the narrow elevator.

She pressed the inverted pyramid of a button. “At least we can have one actual X-Files case somewhere tropical.” She turned to look up at him. “Just us, though? If the Gunmen's intercepts are right, we have several islands to investigate, and they’re hundreds of miles apart. Pendrell and Phillips are more familiar with the Big Island than any of us, and they wouldn't mind at all going back out there.” 

He nodded. “Nichols has his own shop to run. Rosen splits her time between her measurements and working with him, so they both need to stay put. Director Skinner will need help with Krycek, because, well, it’s Krycek.” He threw up both hands in disgust. “Stickle and the Big Cheese worked together well while we were searching for you, so our Junior G-man gets to stay behind to assist with legal matters. He’s the only true lawyer among us.” 

She arched one brow, the red hairs corkscrew-wild as they regrew, just as many of her auburn curls remained untamed. “Now, we need an accountant, and we’ll be any old standard-issue Bureau group.” They exchanged tiny smiles at the thought, then she sobered. “Okay, then, Cynthia. She's between classes, and we could use her help coordinating.”

A chime from overhead, so he guided her through the opening, his hand on her back. “Yeah. She's been left behind to hold down the fort enough times. We'll set her up in a Bureau office with a desk on a lanai and she can be command central. I think she's ready for that.” 

“It would be good to show her how important she is to us.” She sent him a one-sided grin. “I’m glad we’re keeping it light. We have our Tuesday lunch tomorrow, the first one since the Mall, if you remember.” 

He chuckled as the doors closed. “Already have it scoped out, Doctor. Someplace I think you’ll really like. On the water, lots of fins and scales. You just need to be ready to go at noon.” 

Green-blue met hazel. “You never stop surprising me, G-man.” _And, I hope you never do._

\--FINIS--

CHERMERA

\-----o------------------------------------------------------o-----

Here have I cause, in men just blame to find,  
That in their own praise too partial be,  
And not indifferent to woman kind,  
To whom no share in arms and chivalry  
They do impart, nor make memory  
Of their brave gestes and prowess martial;  
Scarce do they spare to one or two or three,  
Room in their writs; yet the same writing small  
Does all their deeds deface, and dims their glories all. 

But by record of antique times I find,  
That women wont in wars to bear most sway,  
And to all great exploits them selves inclined:  
Of which they still the garland bore away,  
Till envious Men fearing their rules decay,  
Gan coyne streight lawes (Began writing strict laws) to curb their liberty;  
Yet since they warlike arms have laid away:  
They have excelled in arts and policy,  
That now we foolish men that praise begin to envy.  
…  
Where is the Antique glory now become,  
That once was in women to appear?  
Where be the brave achievements done by some?  
Where be the battles, where the shield and spear,  
And all the conquests, which them high did rear,  
That matter made for famous Poets verse,  
And boastful men so oft ashamed to hear?  
Been they all dead, and laid in doleful hearse?  
Or do they only sleep, and shall again reverse? 

If they be dead, then woe is me therefore:  
But if they sleep, oh let them soon awake:  
For all too long I burn with envy sore,  
To hear the warlike feats, which Homer spake  
Of bold Penthesilee, which made a lake  
Of Greekish blood so oft in Trojan plain;  
But when I read, how stout Debora strake (struck)  
Proud Sisera, and how Camill' hath slain  
The huge Orsilochus, I swell with great disdain.  
Yet these, and all that else had puissance,  
Cannot with noble Britomart compare,  
As well for glory of great valiance,  
As for pure chastity and virtue rare,  
That all her goodly deeds do well declare.  
The Faerie Queen  
(Book III: Canto Two, Stanzas 1-3 and Canto Four, Stanzas 1-3)  
Edmund Spenser, 1590  
\-----o------------------------------------------------------o-----

Chermera begun: August 2018  
Finished: November 2019

\-----o------------------------------------------------------o-----

Author’s note: Before I proceed, I would like to retire a long-unrecognized debt to Daniel Wood. His gracious praise of my work in the on-line version of Cinescape on September 10, 2001 (yes, THAT September tenth) has been a reminder and a prompt to me as I worked on this novel. 

Thanks to those of you who have made it this far. It’s been many more years than I expected it would be before I returned to working with Scully and Mulder to expose the CSM and his evil deeds, but, here we are. The initial scenes of the sundry threads of this novel lay scattered in various locations across several hard drives and back-ups, waiting until I had the time and energy to return to them. Most of them made it through intact, with but minor additions, the opening in the Suola especially. I wrote them shortly after I finished “Anath,” assuming once I settled in to my new job, I would be able to pick them up and continue. 

Life, however, intervened. I found myself working much longer hours at my new place of employment, sometimes for projects I found deeply challenging, and sometimes, just because budgets were tight, deadlines were too-near, and a great deal of work had to be done with the limited resources at hand. It’s been fascinating helping, in my small way, to discover and catalog the surface of the planet Mercury, to sound the ice sheets in Greenland and Antarctica, to model aerosols here in Earth’s atmosphere, to develop (and patent!) techniques to monitor and track our rapidly-vanishing Arctic sea ice, and to plan hyperspectral imagers for monitoring changes in Earth’s coastal regions, as well as to survey Jupiter’s Galilean moon, Europa, for the first time. But, there has been little energy left over for anything else. Worse, my Mother fell and broke her hip shortly after I started my new job, which initiated over a decade of slow decline that consumed much of my sister’s and my time and money to attend, until her eventual death several years ago. 

I should note, however, the passage of time does bring some benefits. With the revival of “Doctor Who” (even with its insanely uneven quality and ADHD storylines), and Peter Jackson’s movies (since no one reads long books anymore, or, at least, not until J. K. Rowling created new generations of bookworms – Thanks, J. K.!), I can indulge in “Doctor Who” and “Lord of the Rings” references and expect people to actually ‘get’ them. 

So, what changed? Recent events in the wider world, for one. I’ll elaborate more in E-mail for those who are interested, but, I’ll let it go at that here. After a great deal of personal involvement in broader matters of national import, eventually, I had to stop staring into the abyss for a bit. I needed an refuge until the storm passed. 

Now, it should also surprise no one who has read my stories that my tastes in entertainment run to science fiction. Over the years, once I walked away from the Files before the end of Season Seven and the true wretchedness began, I happily discovered “Babylon 5,” “Stargate SG-1,” and, for its first three seasons, “Farscape.” I had on-line and RL friends who cajoled me into the Buffyverse and “Elementary,” which have been different things altogether. Babylon, Stargate, and Buffy were fun, and their creators took care to develop their alternative realities sufficiently that I was engaged by their arcs and satisfied by their resolutions, B5 especially. “Elementary,” as well as being a surprisingly successful updating of Holmes and Watson - New York in the 21st Century really is the equivalent of London in the 19th - has recreated that intellectual partnership between two close friends I had thought was the bond between Scully and Mulder. Early in Season Three, Carter and Company decided, in pursuit of ratings rather than originality, that the intellects of the partners were cancers to be excised, but that is another long discussion to be had off-line. “Farscape” burned too bright and too fast, basically blowing up at the end of the Third Season, sadly. 

But, none of them caught my interest as did those first two seasons of the Files. What brought that all back to me was neither the 2008 movie, which I have no intention of seeing, nor the reboot of the series. Of that, I have only watched “Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster,” because, hey, it was Darin. The reboot brought back all the plot-lines and writers who had driven me, during the latter seasons, to watch the show with my hands over my face, cringing at how bad the stories had become. The Myth-arc began degenerating into an incomprehensible mess during the latter half of the Third Season, but that never stopped Carter from gleefully making it worse with each two-parter and season-ender/restart (according to Wikipedia, Scully basically ends the series insane – Really, Chris?). So there was no reason for me to re-engage with what had once been one of my favorite series of all time. Instead, it was the reruns of the originals on BBC America. I could watch those fun, odd little stories of Season One, and the arc of Season Two, appreciating them, all over again. There were the episodes that addressed serious questions about the nature of reality, asked by two whip-smart agents with different approaches to their cases, played by two intelligent actors who looked impossibly young. This led me to rereading my stories, then, eventually, wanting to pick up and finish what I started. 

But, there was still this larger cloud from the wider world to address, and a fine vehicle to do so, which brings me to that other series I reference in touches large and small throughout this story: “The Prisoner.” Now, those of you who have never seen McGoohan’s masterpiece should clear a weekend to spend time with the 17 episodes involved – ignore the day-glow Sixties colors and the random appearances of antiquated technology, and pay attention to what the series is saying. You see, this is what television could be, and should be. It asks questions about authority, society, and the right of the individual to exist, all in a package that spans spy stories, science fiction, political intrigue, and even America’s myth of the Western. I saw this series first when I was in college, and the questions it raised haunt me to this day. Further, the show was a trailblazer for television that few have followed. We would never have had “Twin Peaks” without “Fall Out,” nor would the Psy-corps of “Babylon-5” been born without The Village. X-Files touches, only briefly, on some of the themes “The Prisoner” spotlights so intensely (“Anasazi,” cough, “Anasazi”), but not nearly as often as it should have. I suspect such is the case because the latter-season X-F creative team just didn’t want to look that hard inside themselves, which serious wrestling with the themes of “The Prisoner” forces one to do. 

There is no way to write a crossover between the two series; they’re simply too different. However, the themes and arcs could be brought over, if modified to fit in an X-Files universe. Through those, I realized, I could address my disenchantment with the state of current affairs, which has affected all facets of our society. Everyone, certainly, has been put under stress, but especially women, which is why it is Scully who gets put through the wringer this time around. With all the changes our culture has seen, women, for all their talents, education, and labor, have still not broken the ultimate glass ceiling. There have been changes in the past few months for the better. But we are not, yet, at the place in our culture where women are accepted simply as human beings, capable of great things, who can go as far as their many different talents and interests allow. Women are still being straight-jacketed into one role, one fate, pressured to bend and shuffle to appease constricting powers and forces completely out of their control, for no reason other than they are not male. 

So, here we are. I have no real time, outside of weekends, to write, but, I had made a promise to my readers, years ago: real myth, in a real arc, and we’re still not finished. There is no point in telling the beginning and middle of a story, but not the end, where all the themes and plots come into final focus and fruition. We have met the incarnations of the first two faces of the Triple Goddess, hinted at in “Twelfth Night,” in the first two trilogies, while the third is just coming into view. I have had E-mails over the years, asking when I was really going to reunite Mulder with his sister, which I had always intended to do in this story, because, you see, Samantha is Persephone, one of the myths in my myth-arc. She has to return, or else we will never have spring. 

Further, there are broader horizons, beyond the personal, for the partners to address. The question for Mulder at the end of “Zurvan”: What does a man do with the rest of his life once he thinks he has all his answers, remained. In life, as in science, one never has all the answers, just more questions; in this story, I was able to give him some, and from an unlikely source. Scully, too, has achieved some of that professional recognition she has always sought, which has just led to further complications for her in her life, professionally and personally. Their parallel and interconnected stories will continue to play out through the remaining two novels, now that they are no longer “the FBI’s most unwanted.”

Let me close with a few references, for those who are interested. 

The full text of Fairie Queene can be found on-line at: http://www.luminarium.org/renascence-editions/fqintro.html. I took the quotes from there to avoid copyright issues. I have modernized the spellings to make it easier to read, and added translations of Spenser’s purposely retrograde English in parentheses where the text would be otherwise incomprehensible to modern readers. For a version with explanatory notes, quite helpful introductory materials (and a glossary) try: “The Faerie Queene”, by Edmund Spenser (1590), Books Three and Four, Edited, with Introduction, by Dorothy Stephens, General Series Editor Abraham Stoll, Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana, 2006, ISBN-13: 978-0-87220-855-1 (paperback, books 3 & 4), ISBN-10: 0-87220-855-9 (paperback, books 3 & 4), 512 pp. The other books of Fairie Queene (Spenser had planned twelve, but only lived to write six of them) are published separately, so search on Abraham Stoll, Spenser, and Faerie Queene to pull them all up. 

Scully’s Cavalli-Sforza, still in print: “The History and Geography of Human Genes” by L. L. Cavalli-Sforza, P. Menozzi, and A. Piazza, Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey, 1994, ISBN 0-691-08750-4, 1086 pp. Of those pages, 526 are maps and color plates, so our Doctor is one very dedicated reader!

For a more recent view: “Who We Are and How We Got Here: Ancient DNA and the New Science of the Human Past” by David Reich, Pantheon Books, a division of Penguin Random House L.L.C., New York, New York, 2018, ISBN 9781101870327, 335 pp.

On the hero for scientists and mystics both: “Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition” by Frances A. Yates, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, Illinois, 1964, paperback edition, 1991 ISBN 0-226-95007-7, 466 pp. 

Or, for a more recent reference: “Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey - The Voyage Continues, Episode 1: ‘Standing Up in the Milky Way’” written by Ann Druyan and Steven Soter, directed by Brannon Braga, narrated by Neil deGrasse Tyson, and produced by Livia Hanich and Steven Holtzman. Original air date: March 9, 2014. Available on Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Blu-ray Cat. # 2293207.

Scully’s catalogue of the evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence from the shape-shifters’s homeward-bound ship shares similarities with the characteristics of Oumuamua, minus the patterned EM signatures, of course. For some opposing views on this first object to be definitively identified as from outside the solar system, try: 

Bialy, S., and A. Loeb, “Could Solar Radiation Pressure Explain ‘Oumuamua’s Peculiar Acceleration?”, The Astrophysical Journal Letters, vol. 868, no. 1, 2018 November 12, doi: /10.3847/2041-8213/aaeda8.

Katz, J. I. “Evidence against non-gravitational acceleration of 1I/2017 U1 ‘Oumuamua”, Astrophys Space Sci (2019) 364:51, doi:/10.1007/s10509-019-3542-z.

I’ll also send people to NASA’s web-page: https://solarsystem.nasa.gov/asteroids-comets-and-meteors/comets/oumuamua/in-depth/ and the Wikipedia entry on Oumuamua: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%CA%BBOumuamua. They are quite extensive, and survey the controversy dispassionately. 

If Surfer Dud were capable of actually doing a little reading (and thinking), Oumuamua would have made for a perfect X-File, although, as someone who works in space exploration, I would agree with Scully on the issue. Scully’s and Mulder’s arguments would be epic. 

Now, a few words on The Forty. I had always wanted to create a genuine secret society for Scully and Mulder to investigate over the course of the Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy, so I had seeded several hints throughout “Zurvan” and “Anath” of this part of the story to come. But, I didn’t, initially, grasp how it would involve them personally. Once I did, though, many of my earlier threads wove into place, almost as I wrote. It also set up a longer skein I’ll be following through the remaining novels. 

There are many, many references on secret societies, some instructive, some not. Of interest for “Chermera” was: “The Origins of Freemasonry – Scotland’s century 1590-1710” by David Stevenson, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, 1988, ISBN 0 521 39654 9 (paperback), 264 pp. 

To meet the original Atrebates, Suebi, Helvetii, etc. I’ll direct you to the latest (but fortunately, not the last) of the Landmark series: “The Landmark Julius Caesar: The Complete Words – Gallic War, Civil War, Alexandrian War, African War, and Spanish War”, edited and translated by Kurt A. Raaflaub, Series Editor Robert B. Strassler, Pantheon Books, a division of Penguin Random House L.L.C., New York, New York, 2017, ISBN 978-0-307-37786-9, 785 pp. It is accompanied by many reference essays on-line (http://www.landmarkcaesar.com), for those who want to learn more about the various titles and laws The Forty use and refer to among themselves. Sadly, I could never work an excuse into the story for our Oxford-educated G-man to spout Julius’s famous opening words, “Gallia est omnia divisa in partes tres.” But, I have two more novels to go!

For a sense of how the archipelago between France, Norway and Denmark, Iceland, and Greenland that we refer to as “Great Britain” or the United Kingdom could have built up such far-flung connections to the rest of the world, so that The Forty could consider themselves shepherds of the entirety of the human race, I’ll offer these possibilities. 

First, all islands are crossroads, so there is political, cultural, and genetic exchange that goes on anywhere there are isolated outcroppings of land in the ocean. For the genetic: “The Origins of the British – A Genetic Detective Story: The Surprising Roots of the English, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh” by Stephen Oppenheimer, first published in the UK by Constable, an imprint of Constable & Robinson, Ltd, and in the US, by Carroll & Graf Publishers, an imprint of Avalon Publishing Group, Inc. New York, NY, 2006, ISBN-13: 978-0-78671-890-0, ISBN-10: 0-7867-1890-0, 556 pp. 

Second, there were those astonishing centuries where, through the vagaries of history, these small islands made political and personal connections with most of the rest of the globe to dominate it: “The Isles: A History” by Norman Davies, Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK, ISBN 0-19-513442-7, 1999, 1264 pp. Among many, many other texts, of course. 

The peoples of dal Riata, or Dalriada, depending on your preference, formed, so far as surviving histories record, one of the first “kingdoms” uniting major parts of Scotland with sections of Ireland, beginning in the Fifth Century, or, shortly after the departure of the Romans and the abandonment of Hadrian’s Wall. Much reference material I wanted to consult was out of print, so I used: 

“The Oxford Companion to Scottish History” edited by Michael Lynch, Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK, 2001, reprinted 2007, 2011, ISBN 978-0-19-969305-4, 758 pp. 

“Scotland – A New History” by Michael Lynch, Pimlico Press, London, UK, 1991, with multiple reprints, ISBN 9780712698931, 528 pp.

To understand what it means to be a Daughter of the Enlightenment, I can think of no better set of texts than Jonathan I. Israel’s epic odyssey from Descarte through to the U.S. Constitution: 

“Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650-1750” by Jonathan I. Israel, Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK, 2001 (hardback), 2002 (paperback), ISBN 978-0-19-925456-9 (paperback), 832 pp. 

“Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man, 1670-1752” by Jonathan I. Israel, Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK, 2006 (hardback), 2008 (paperback), ISBN 978-0-19-954152-2 (paperback), 1007 pp. 

“Democratic Enlightenment: Philosophy, Revolution, and Human Rights, 1750-1790” by Jonathan I. Israel, Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK, 2011, ISBN 978-0-19-954820-0, 1082 pp. 

Or, for the Cliff Notes version: 

“A Revolution of the Mind: Radical Enlightenment and the Intellectual Origins of Modern Democracy” by Jonathan Israel, Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey, 2010, ISBN 978-0-691-14200-5, 292 pp.

Lastly, some background on La Serenissima:

Scully’s Norwich is the English-language history of the Republic that is sold in Venice’s museum gift shops, so it must capture, to some extent, the way the Venetians, who can be reticent with outsiders, see themselves: “A History of Venice” by John Julius Norwich, Volume One (1977) and Volume Two (1981) published by Allen Lane, London, UK, US hardcover (1982) by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. New York, NY, Vintage Books Edition (paperback), published by Random House, New York, NY, 1989 (multiple reprintings), ISBN 0-679-72197-5 (paperback), 702 pp. 

For later chapters in Venice’s story: 

“Daniele Manin and the Venetian Revolution of 1848-49” by Paul Ginsborg, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, 1979, ISBN 0 521 22077 7, 435 pp. Interesting fact: Manin is the only person honored by being entombed in a sarcophagus in the walls of St. Mark’s Cathedral. 

“Paradise of Cities: Venice in the Nineteenth Century” by John Julius Norwich, Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc., USA, 2003, ISBN 0-385-50904-9, 360 pp. 

For the art (mostly in black and white, sadly, so take a trip to see it in all its glory in place): 

“Venice: Lion City – The Religion of Empire” by Barry Wills, Washington Square Press (paperback) a registered trademark of Simon and Schuster, Inc., New York, NY, 2001, ISBN 0-671-04764-7, 416 pp. 

Finally, for those who will never have the opportunity to step inside the actual Consiglio dei Dieci in the Doge’s Palace in Venice, try: https://www.italyguides.it/en/veneto/venice/st-mark-s-square/doge-s-palace/hall-of-the-council-of-ten. There’s a wonderful interactive projection that lets you scroll and zoom around all the walls and the ceiling. When I had the opportunity to visit in person, back in 2005, I was thrilled to see the representation of Hermes and Athena in Ponchino’s “Mercury and Minerva” opposite Veronese’s “Juno Showering Gifts on Venice” on the ceiling. It’s one of the few places in Western Art where Hermes and Athena appear together without the other Olympians and I made a mental note to work it somehow into one of these stories. 

I must say, picking up the the Kuxan Sum cycle again was like a long reunion with very old friends. The X-F universe has such possibilities for story-telling I have had a wonderful time, over the past 11-15 months, re-inhabiting it. The story-lines fell in place rather easily, although, putting a character for whom I have such great affection through the gauntlet of “Once Upon a Time” was more emotionally traumatic than I expected it to be. (It was originally supposed to take all seven days for Scully to defeat Krycek!) Mulder and Scully do get to Venice in the third novel, and on a case. I promise. 

Be Seeing You!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program, "The X-Files" are the creation and property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. They have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Any other characters or phrases the reader recognizes belong to their respective creators and owners, are also used without permission, and with no intent of copyright infringement. Readers are free to place this story on any web-page or archive as long as my approval is first obtained, and as long as my name and E-mail address remain attached. This work must not be used for profit.  
Note to the reader: The stories listed as authored by Mary Ruth Keller are all in a single universe. While each is an investigation that stands alone, they should be read in the following order for the plot and character developments to make the most sense.   
The Kuxan Sum story order:   
Caroline Lowenberg Trilogy:   
"Sins of the Fathers"   
"Xibalba"   
"Denha"   
Saytr Play: "Rustic Suite"   
Dana Scully Trilogy:  
Prologue: “Time Out of Joint”  
"Passages in Memory"   
Interlude: “Roman de la Pendrell”  
"Archaea"   
"Zurvan"   
Saytr Play: "Anath"   
Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy (to date):  
"Chermera"
> 
> That nonpareil ITC series "The Prisoner" is now, after fifty-odd years, in the public domain, but credit where credit is due. The themes and quotes from that incomparable creation of the minds of the late Patrick McGoohan, George Markstein, David Tomblin, and their creative team are used here in worshipful reverence for true originality. Often referenced, twice remade, but, never matched. My humble offering is but a mere echo, NOT a crossover. Gratias tibi, gentlemen.


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